


Of the Indigo Skies

by PastelGreywaren



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, Doomed Timelines, Eventual Xander/Laslow, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Happy Ending, M/M, Relationships based on my first awakening run through, Revelations, Revelations Route, Slow Burn, Time Travel, he gets it from his parents, inigo is a dork, just to bridge some gaps in the plot of the games, with a few headcanons thrown in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelGreywaren/pseuds/PastelGreywaren
Summary: Inigo's life told in snippets, from childhood in Ylisse to the end of the war in Hoshido and Nohr.•x•x•“Hiya, Milord! I was just showing Laslow my knives!” Peri chirped.Poor Xander, mortified, had whipped around to face the other direction before Peri could finish turning, her skirts bundled in her arms to reveal a plethora of knives strapped to her legs. “Your /what/?” he asked in a voice a good octave higher than normal.“My knives! Duh. I’ve gotta put ‘em somewhere, and you can’t see them through my dress.” She made no move to put down her skirts, then added, “Laslow showed me his sword.”Xander choked. Laslow may have sobbed.(Chapter 16. “XXIII pt. II)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My first FE fic, woo!!! This fic has been my baby for the past few months. I originally wanted to post it as one big fic, but it's huge, so I'll post in it chapters to make it easier to read and edit. I tried to leave some relationships ambiguous, but the ones I made clear are based on the relationships I made in my first run through of Awakening a few years ago. Comments are always super appreciated!! ^^ Enjoy!

"What about Laslow?"

  
"Laslow?"

  
Olivia made a face, hands folded over her belly. Their child was due any day now, and the couple had yet to discuss names. She crinkled her nose and shook her head, flashing an apologetic smile. "Sorry, love. It's... interesting."

  
Henry cackled, leaning his head on Olivia's shoulder as he placed a gentle hand on her abdomen. He traced patterns—or maybe sigils? She could never tell— on her stomach, giggling brightly as he was rewarded with a kick. Olivia, decidedly unamused by this action, grimaced.

  
"What? It means blue in some roundabout way. Y'know, languages and stuff," Henry explained, taking Olivia's left hand in his own and inspecting her ring with thin, tanned fingers. A glimmering opal was nestled between two beautiful blue stones on a delicate band of white gold. Olivia admired it as well; she’d always loved her ring, and not only for the fact that Henry had picked it out for her himself. Blue had always been one of her favorite colors, after all.

  
"The ring lady told me these are lapis lazuli or something," he continued as he ran his thumb over the blue stones, "sooo... Lazuli? Laslow? Bam! Sentimental and cool. The perfect baby name."

  
Olivia rolled her eyes fondly. He seemed so proud of his conclusion, grinning as he pulled away to address one of his crows. She watched him as she idly drummed her fingers on his knee.

  
"What do you think? I think Laslow is perfect."

  
The crow in question cocked it's head to one side, intelligent eyes twinkling in the dying light. It let out a sound akin to a purr, then shifted its gaze to Olivia. Henry pouted, his face falling as he crossed his arms and leaned against Olivia once more.

  
"What did it say?" Olivia queried, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

  
"She didn't like it," he grumbled, continuing to pout. He narrowed his eyes at the crow, sticking his tongue out at the offending bird. Olivia idly wondered if he was ready for a child, being overwhelmingly childish himself.

  
Twisting to face him, she gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. He instantly brightened, usual smile back in place.

  
"I was thinking," she began as she absently began to drum her fingers on her belly instead, "What about Inigo?"

  
"Inigo," Henry repeated softly, resembling a certain avian friend as he cocked his head to the side. Said avian cawed softly, bouncing a bit in place.

  
"Now you agree?" Henry muttered incredulously, throwing his hands in the air.

  
Olivia giggled softly, daring to pet the bird's iridescent feathers. Again, it purred, then began to wander off once more, apparently distracted by something shiny in the corner of their tent.

  
"So... what do you think?" She prompted her husband. "It means indigo."

  
Henry hummed softly, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His face then split into a megawatt grin.

  
"Y'know? I like it! Our Inigo!"

  
"Our Inigo." Olivia murmured, smiling softly as she rested her head in the crook of Henry's neck.


	2. 0

The evening sky was a deep indigo when word spread across camp that the newest baby in the army had at last been delivered.

  
Olivia couldn't help but choke out a sob, smiling relievedly as the hospital tent filled with the cries of her newborn son.

  
"A healthy baby boy," said Libra, helping Lissa swaddle the child in the blanket Frederick had kindly made for him with yarn from the last village they passed.

The priest took the child into his arms, smiling down at him softly, and gently handed him to his mother. Olivia tried her best to pull herself together for her new son, even though she knew the baby probably couldn't care less.

  
"Hello, Inigo," she cooed softly, eyes still shining with tears.

The boy merely whined, eyes still closed and skin flushed pink. He had thin, wispy hair and a small mouth pulled into a frown. Olivia longed to see the color of his eyes, but he had yet to open them. Would they be her own brown, or his father's violet? Olivia sniffed and held her son closer to her chest.

  
"Oh, he has your hair," she murmured, her gaze shifting from the shock of white fuzz atop Inigo's head to Henry's own fine, colorless hair. The mage had stood beside her makeshift bed the whole time, offering her encouragement when he wasn't pleading for her to let go of his hand, lest she break it (though he didn't mind the pain). A smile twisted his lips — as usual — but it was a genuinely joyful expression, unlike the façade he normally put up.

Olivia gently transferred the bundle to Henry, whose smile faltered for a split second as a look of hesitation flickered across his features. He cradled the baby, shifting him awkwardly in his arms as if he were unsure of how to hold him. The dancer placed a comforting hand on her husband's arm, meeting his gaze and offering a reassuring nod and a smile. Finally returning her smile with a grin of his own, Henry peered down at his son, who had quieted and was now flexing his tiny digits.

Libra and Lissa seemed to hold their breath as Henry gently touched a finger to Inigo's hand. The baby curled his fingers around his father's reflexively. Libra, with a gentle look in his eyes, murmured something to Lissa in a low voice and left the tent, holding the flap open for the cleric to follow. Olivia watched them go, waving as Lissa glanced over her shoulder one last time.

"Nya ha! Strong already?" Henry remarked, his voice softer than it's normal volume as he spoke to his son.

"He looks a lot like you, Henry," Olivia said, blinking blearily as her exhaustion began to catch up with her. Her hair was a bit frazzled and mussed, and she looked terribly worn out, but Henry still thought her to be the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Besides his new baby, of course.

  
"How can you tell?" The dark mage queried, his violet gaze flicking to his wife, "His face looks all squished up to me."

  
"Be nice, he was just born," Olivia chided playfully. "That's our son you're talking about. I bet you didn't look too hot after you were born, either."

  
Henry snickered to himself as he focused on the baby once more.

"Just between you and me," he began in a whisper, "I think you look more like your mother."

He brushed a few strands of fine, wispy hair from the boy's forehead and, with a fond look, passed him back to Olivia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first real chapter is here! Still working on the second chapter since I added it pretty recently. It should be up within the next few days. Thanks for reading!! <3


	3. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA Frederick is the best mom

While Olivia and Henry went on patrol together for the first time in nearly two years, Inigo was placed in the care of a very disgruntled Frederick.

" _I just need to get away for a little while,"_ Olivia had told him. _"I miss patrolling! A breath of fresh air and a walk in the forest could do wonders for me."_

 _"Are there no better candidates to play nanny than I?"_ he had responded with barely concealed disdain. He had far too many tasks to take care of to waste his time _babysitting_!

Olivia had pursed her lips, determination like Frederick had rarely seen flaring in her eyes. " _An hour at most, Frederick. That is all I ask of you. My Inigo isn't very fussy. I assure you he won't cause you any trouble."_

He had scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Olivia's gaze continued to bore into his.

' _No, Frederick_ ,' he told himself.

She had looked exhausted. Dark rings lay just below her tired eyes.

' _Don't do it,'_ his mind repeated.

He hadn't missed how she had brightened when she spoke of the outdoors. He supposed he sympathized. But, he had no idea how tough it may be to be cooped up with a young child, confined to camp to keep him safe.

 _"Alright,"_ he had finally sighed out, startling himself. He had meant to tell her he couldn't, but his mouth appeared to have other plans. _"An hour,"_  he continued, " _I'm keeping you to our word."_

 

 And that is exactly how he ended up with a babbling baby balanced on his hip and a burlap bag full of sticks and pebbles in the other.

"Why me?" he grumbled to himself as Inigo's mouth found its way onto Frederick's clean, white shirt.

"Why not Libra? Is he not more experienced?" Frederick paused to pick up another stray pebble.

Inigo was apparently beginning to take a liking to the sound of his own voice. He let out a rather cheerful sounding scream, giggling and kicking his legs.

"Hush! At once!" Frederick whispered, scowling at the boy in a way he hoped was stern. The boy gave him a toothless grin in reply, continuing to giggle. That laugh with that smile reminded Frederick too much of Inigo's father, which sent a shudder down his spine.

"You will not scream in public," Frederick admonished. As Inigo stared up at him with wide brown eyes, the knight found it harder and harder to remain cross with him.

As his expression softened, Inigo reached up with curious hands towards Frederick's tie, whining when he couldn't reach it. The knight gently lowered the boy's arms, shaking his head. "You must be bored. I suppose I can finish this task later," he said reluctantly with one last wistful glance towards the pebble-filled path he hadn't taken care of yet.

 _Only an hour,_ he told himself. He could hold off on his usual tasks for that long, right?

•x•x•

Frederick spread a quilt on the floor of the kitchen and placed the baby boy on top of it, turning to the wash basin so he could begin to clean the dishes from breakfast. He simply couldn't help himself. How would the day go smoothly if the dishes went unwashed?

Inigo glanced around the kitchen with wide, curious eyes, balling his fists into the soft quilt. "Fed!" he exclaimed, watching, enraptured, as he waved the edges of the quilt around.

Frederick glanced down at the utterance of Inigo's new name for him. The white haired boy giggled as he looked up at the knight. Then, his gaze locked on the metal whisk in Frederick's hand. "Ah! Mah!" He demanded, instantly making grabby hands for the shiny utensil.

"Oh?" said Frederick, his mouth pulled into a half smile. "This? This is a whisk."

"Mah!" said Inigo, more forcefully this time. He was determined to get his hands on it.

"Whisk," said Frederick, slowly this time. Inigo seemed to narrow his eyes at the knight. Frederick raised an eyebrow.

"Ist," the boy said slowly, then resumed his futile attempts to reach for it.

"I don't believe you can have this whisk, Inigo. It may prove dangerous."

Inigo furrowed his little brow, frowning as best as he could. He seemed to note that he had been told no, which didn't set well with him. Inigo began to whine, but Frederick leveled him with a stern gaze. Then, as suddenly as a storm can begin in the summer, fat tears began to well in Inigo's eyes, escaping down in cheeks as he let out a pitiful sob. Frederick's eyes widened.

"Oh, no," he muttered as he set the whisk on the counter and lifted the boy into his arms.

Inigo let out a wail, attempting to push himself away from Frederick's chest. The man attempted to bounce Inigo gently, hushing him quietly.

"Hey," he cooed softly, frowning, "I apologize, Inigo."

The boy quieted a bit, but continued to sob.

"I didn't want you to get hurt. Hey... would you like to eat? I could make something for you. Would you like that?" he murmured to the boy, still bouncing him.

Inigo settled, sniffling weakly. He then balled his hands into Frederick's clean shirt and shoved his face into his chest. "Yah," he mumbled weakly, his voice muffled. Frederick smiled softly.

•x•x•

Sir Frederick, great knight of Ylisse, knighted by Exalt Emmeryn herself in Ylisstol, co-commander of the Ylissian army, was currently covered in mushed carrots.

He took a deep breath.

Then another.

"Inigo," he said through clenched teeth, holding a spoon in front of the stubborn boy's mouth. "Open up. Please. I beg of you."

Inigo crossed his chubby little arms, scowling. Frederick sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

"Okay. How about this?" Frederick moved the spoon as if it were flying through the sky. Inigo perked up ever so slightly, watching it zoom through the air.

"Ah, look! It's a Pegasus knight."

Inigo blinked a few times, scowl almost instantly replaced by a tiny smile.

"Here it comes. Are you ready?"

Inigo giggled and opened his mouth wide, prompting a heavy, relieved sigh from Frederick. He then "flew" the spoon into the boy's mouth, watching in relief as he _finally_ ate his carrots.

"Gods above," he sighed out, "thank you."

As Frederick stood from his seat on the quilt across from Inigo (as the boy had refused to sit in a chair), he looked down at his once pristine shirt, now stained orange with carrots flung in fits of tiny rage. His gaze then drifted to Inigo. His unruly white cloud of hair harbored a few orange specks, as did his little tunic. He appeared to have more carrots on his face than he actually managed to get into his mouth.

"I might as well clean you up. I doubt your mother would want you getting carrots all over her, yes?" he chuckled, then turned to the basin, searching for a washcloth, then dipping it into the clean water on one side.

As he turned back around, he found that Inigo was not where he had left him. Panic settled heavy and cold in Frederick's gut. Where could he have gone? It wasn't as if he could move much. He was too young, correct? However, it soon melted away as he (thankfully) spotted a tuft of white hair tottering away.

Tottering.

Walking.

"Oh," breathed Frederick, eyes wide.

He watched for a moment more as the baby boy teetered on unsteady legs, hands grabbing low-sitting chests and table legs to maintain balance.

"Inigo?" Frederick called to the child.

Said child turned around, chocolate eyes round and innocent.

"I sincerely hope those weren't your first steps."

Inigo giggled (rather, cackled), and continued on his merry way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I just noticed I had the word Indigo misspelled in the title whoops. Anywho, thanks for reading!!


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, sorry this chapter is a little short. I may start grouping chapters together. Anyway, enjoy!! ^^

Henry combed a hand through his hair, glancing up on his way back from the war council tent (where he completely conked out in the middle of Robin's battle plans) to see Inigo scurrying toward him as fast as his little legs could carry him. The little boy sniffled weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached his father and clung to his leg, hiding his face in his black tights. Henry knelt down, gingerly detaching the child from his leg and tilting his chin up to see his face. Inigo scrubbed at his eyes, lip trembling

"What's up, kiddo? Why the long face?" Henry asked softly, smiling as he used his cloak to dry his son's tears. Inigo sniffled again, tiny fingers clutching onto Henry's cloak.

"I-I fell," he mumbled out, pointing to his knees.

"Hey, let me see," said Henry.

He then gently pushed the leg of Inigo's pants over his knee, finding the scrape and clicking his tongue. He poked his son on the nose, grinning.

"Oh, this isn't too messy," he concluded. "Want to go see Miss Maribelle? I'm sure she can patch you right up, good as new."

Inigo let go of his father's cloak in favor of hugging him, hiding his face in Henry's gray sweater and nodding.

"Okie dokie. Let's go, okay?" Henry grinned, lifting the child up and hoisting him onto his hip.

"Upsie-daisy!"

This earned him a soft giggle from Inigo. The mage ruffled his son's fair hair and made his way to the hospital tent, talking softly to him the whole way. He was dimly aware of the curious, apprehensive eyes following them across camp.

•x•x•

"You're getting so big, I won't be able to carry you much longer." Henry huffed as he sat Inigo down on the cot in the medical tent.

The tent was rather spacious and sterile-looking, which peeved Henry more than he'd like to admit. The dirt floor was mostly covered with a surprisingly clean white rug, on which chests and cabinets full of tinctures, bandages, salves, and other medical supplies lay. Maribelle was rooting through the cabinets, delicate curls bouncing as she moved. Her son, Brady, sat on the rug a few feet away, using a stick to draw in the dirt. The troubadour cleared her throat, turning her sharp gaze on her son, who immediately let go of the stick, folding his hands in his lap.

Inigo tilted his head, watching the other boy. Henry knew he was two years older than Inigo, and Maribelle was already training him in healing.

"Do you know exactly what happened, Henry? Where did he fall?"

The mage shrugged, "Dunno. He just came running after the war council, and I brought him here."

Maribelle turned, eyes narrowed as she ground ingredients with a mortar and pestle. The tent was silent for a few moments aside from the grinding of stone against stone.

"Hm," she said simply, sharply, her gaze lingering on Henry before focusing on the elixir she was currently concocting.

Henry cocked his head to the side, pondering for a moment before it finally clicked. The shock of the revelation forced a harsh laugh from his lips. Maribelle glanced back at him, startled.

"Oh, that's golden! You don't actually think I —"

"Henry," she hissed, a warning in her biting tone. She shook her head, quickly glancing to Inigo.

"Oh, yeah, I completely understand now. Gosh, Maribelle," he continued, his smile wicked, "I had no idea you liked to go for the knees."

Inigo frowned, thoroughly confused, and drew slightly away from him.

"Pardon me?"

"A low blow. Get it? Nya ha!"

"Henry, I never said—"

"Oh, I know. You never _said_ it, but—"

"Enough. Please," she sighed out, impeccably painted lips pulled into a frown, "Let me heal your son."

Henry, expression guarded, glanced to his son, who was staring right back with concerned, dark eyes. The mage merely smiled, drawing his fingers through Inigo's hair.

"Alright, Inigo," Maribelle began, voice soothing but commanding, "show me your wound, please."

Inigo glanced to his father, who flashed him an encouraging smile, but the boy continued to shy away from the healer. As Maribelle took a step closer, Inigo twisted around and hid his face in Henry's belly, hands grasping his sweater firmly. Maribelle, never one for patience, raised an exasperated, well-manicured brow. Henry patted his son's back, then attempted to detach him from his person. With a surprisingly strong grip, Inigo didn't budge.

"Hey, buddy," Henry murmured, "it'll only last a second."

When Inigo remained motionless, Henry added, "I can hold your hand. And maybe Mama can get you some candy from Gaius."

Inigo finally sat up, grabbing his father's thin hand and holding on tight. Henry laughed at his sudden eagerness.

When Maribelle had Inigo patched up, Henry scooped him into his arms and breezed quickly out of the tent. Maribelle peered after them, lips pursed tightly.


	5. V - VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from ages five, seven, and eight.

**V**

"Go on," Olivia encouraged gently, coaxing Inigo to step forward.

The boy shook his head stubbornly and turned to hide his face in his mother's sheer clothing. He was growing to be terribly shy, only feeling comfortable when speaking to his parents, Frederick, and Chrom (only because he used to play with Lucina when he was a baby). His mother had begun to worry about him, so she enlisted the help of Lissa and Gaius, who had a son about a year younger than her own.

  
"Be nice, Sweetheart. You don't want to disappoint your new friend, do you?"

  
Inigo rubbed at his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to the other boy a few feet away. His fluffy hair was as red as a sunset, and his nose was decorated with a smattering of freckles. He looked friendly enough. Maybe a little too eager, but friendly. The blonde woman behind him knelt down and gave him a gentle nudge in Inigo's direction as her wild pigtails fluttered in the breeze. Something about her face reminded Inigo of Lucina and her father.

  
"Go on, Owain," the woman — Lissa, Inigo's mother called her — said excitedly, grinning.

Owain's face lit up in a similar, gap-toothed grin, and he held out a freckled hand, which Inigo eyed with hesitation. Slowly, he mimicked the other boy and held out his own hand, albeit reluctantly. Owain grasped it a little too tightly and gave it a hearty shake, earning a laugh from their parents.

  
"Take it easy, Squirt," Gaius chuckled, ruffling Owain's hair (which was the exact shade of his own).

  
"I'm Owain!" The boy announced proudly. "The awesomest warrior in the army!"

  
Inigo cracked a smile. "I'm Inigo. The... um... best dancer... ever!"

  
Olivia laughed happily, murmuring excitedly to Henry, who watched the boys with a smile.

  
"Let's be friends! Okay?"

  
Inigo blinked owlishly. He'd never really had a friend before. The closest he'd had to one was Lucina, but she never spoke to him anymore, and he was too shy to talk to her himself. A bright smile lit up his face, and he nodded enthusiastically. 

  
**VII**  
"Papa, Papa!" Inigo cried, bounding to his father and leaping into his outstretched arms. He kicked up a cloud of dust in his haste, which floated behind him in the harsh midday light.

  
"Nya ha ha! How's my kiddo?" Henry spun with his son in his arms, both giggling.

"Owain said he'd spar with me today! Can I? Can I, please?" the boy begged, his brown eyes round and pleading.

Henry ruffled the boy's hair, still laughing. He couldn't resist that look, especially since it reminded him so much of Olivia. "As long as it doesn't get too bloody, it's fine by me!"

  
"Bloody? Henry, what are you allowing our son to do?" Olivia asked, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a playful smile as she approached her husband and son. She casually draped an arm around Henry's waist and pulled him closer, her hip knocking into his playfully.

  
"Mama!" Inigo wriggled out of Henry's grip and clung to his mother, laughing gleefully as she hoisted him into her arms. He was getting heavier, and Olivia feared the day when she'd no longer be able to hold him in her arms.

"Can I spar with Owain tomorrow? Please? Mr. Frederick has wooden swords and – and Owain's dad said he'd watch us!"

  
At that addition to the conversation, Olivia shot Henry a look. The mage blinked a few times, clearly missing the hint.

"What?"

  
Olivia's brows shot up even more as she desperately tried to communicate her concerns to him. Even Inigo caught on, watching his parents' silent exchange with a puzzled look not unlike his father's. Still, Henry furrowed his brow.

"What is it? I think Gaius is neat. This one time when we went to the beach, he-"

  
Olivia sighed and shook her head, resisting the urge to slap a hand over her face (or Henry's) out of exasperation, instead holding a finger to her lips in an effort to coax to Henry fall silent.

"Gaius. Watching our child," she said under her breath, giving Henry another pointed look. Henry's blank stare was the only answer she received. Giving up, Olivia gave her son a weary smile and ran her hand through his hair to comb it back into place.

"As long as you be careful, that's fine by me. But, remember," she continued, her expression turning stern, "Owain is still younger than you, so you must be gentle with him. Okay?"

  
"Yes, Mama, I'll be careful. I promise!"

  
"Good boy," said Olivia, pleased. She set her son down, who promptly wrapped his arms around her legs in the best hug he could give, and scampered off to join a few of the other children to continue playing.

Henry laughed to himself as he saw a few children dart behind Ricken's legs and hide in his cape as he passed by. The mage, slightly startled, spun around to catch his tiny assailants and smiled at the giggling children he found. They promptly scattered as they were spotted. He waved at Henry and Olivia, gave Inigo a high five, and went on his way.

  
"He's already popular, I see," said Olivia with a soft laugh.

  
"Why wouldn't he be? Look at his parents!" Henry jested with a grin, "With our combined good looks, he's gotta go far."

  
**VIII**  
"Ooh, almost there," Henry cheered, watching his son attempt to conjure a spell from an old practice tome. Inigo huffed in frustration.

"Dad, this is hopeless. I don't think I got enough magical talent from you," he said with a sigh, frowning at the weak ember dying in the palm of his hand. Henry scooted closer to the edge of the stone he was perched on, his position reminding Inigo of a cat. Or maybe a bird.

"You've just gotta focus more. Don't even look at your hand. Just think about the words you're saying, and picture a fire in your mind, and... BLAMMO! You should have a shiny, new flame right in the palm of your hand, ripe and ready for throwing at enemies!"

  
Inigo couldn't help but smile at his father; he was just so eager to make Inigo into a magic-user. He wanted to make his dad happy more than anything. Doing as he was told, Inigo closed his eyes and pictured a roaring flame licking at his fingertips. Reciting the words he memorized from the tome, his eyes snapped open as he felt warmth radiating in his palm. A flame like the one in his mind (albeit smaller) floated just above his hand, glowing brightly.

"Dad! Dad, I did it! Look!" he cried, laughing giddily. Henry leapt up from his rock, rushing to Inigo's side to inspect the newly-created flame.

"Look at that! Now you're a certified magic-user." Henry's megawatt grin was infectious. "Hey, how's about trying to throw it? Just to see how good your aim is."

  
Inigo stared at the little flame, then his gaze flicked to the rock his father had just been sitting on. It was the least flammable thing in sight.

  
"Good! Aim right there," Henry instructed as he followed his son's gaze, patting him on the back and moving to stand out of the line of fire (literally).

  
His tongue poking out in concentration, Inigo readied his hand and willed the flame to shoot towards the rock. It shot from the palm of his hand... and dropped unceremoniously to the ground a few feet away, promptly setting a small patch of grass on fire. With a yelp, Inigo quickly stamped it out, glancing back to his father sheepishly.

  
Henry glanced from the scorched tuft of grass to his son, then cackled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.  
"Well. There's always next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may start grouping chapters together from now on just so I won't have 30 chapters by the end of this thing. Anywho, angst is coming very soon, brace yourselves... thanks for reading!!


	6. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A sword can only cut after it has been tempered."

Hyah!" Owain cried, making the wooden figure of a warrior he gripped tightly in his hand run across the dry ground. "Take that!" 

Babbling a string of nonsense words, Owain made his warrior cast a spell in the form of a pinch of dirt tossed in the face of Inigo's wooden warrior. 

"No!" Inigo cried, barely stifling a giggle as he shook the dirt off of his wooden sword-user, sending it running towards Owain's mage. Before he could deal a deadly blow to the mage, the figure was knocked from his hands as something (or someone) jostled him from behind. Inigo twisted around, blinking as he spotted a pair of familiar, long pigtails.

"Oops," said Severa, not appearing very sorry as she gazed down at the two boys. Inigo grabbed his warrior from the dust and clutched it to his chest. "What are you dorks doing?"

With an indignant huff, Owain replied, "Playing war. Duh."

Inigo watched, cheeks burning with embarrassment, as Severa gave their game an unimpressed once-over. 

"Wanna play? You could be the dragon," Owain asked, digging around in the cloth bag by his side and producing a rather elegantly carved wooden dragon. 

Inigo shot him a wide-eyed warning glance, his brows shooting towards his hairline in surprise as he shook his head. Sometimes Owain was too friendly for his own good.

Severa stared at the dragon, furrowing her brow and curling her lip as if disgusted. Her gaze then flicked to Inigo, who now wanted to run and hide. The heavy silence fell over Inigo like a suffocating blanket.

"Sure," the girl said finally, though she didn't seem very excited. "As long as it can breathe fire or whatever," she relented with a heavy sigh, flopping down onto a patch of grass and holding her hand out expectantly. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

When Owain plopped the dragon in her palm, she turned her sharp gaze on Inigo once more. "What are you staring at?"

Inigo swallowed thickly. Severa narrowed her eyes, and Inigo could feel her gaze burning into his skin.

"Are you blushing?" she demanded, causing Inigo's stomach to begin a gymnastics routine inside of him.

Before he could stammer out a barely understandable reply, Inigo caught and followed Owain's gaze as it focused somewhere behind his head. He twisted around to find many of the adults rushing from the war council tent and milling about camp, talking quietly amongst themselves with expressions laced with concern and anxiety. He saw Frederick scoop Cynthia into his arms, Sumia following close behind. He then squinted against the sun in an effort to scan the crowd for his parents, which he found in a matter of seconds thanks to Olivia's wild hand gestures. 

They seemed to be debating, or perhaps arguing. Olivia kept shaking her head, placing her hands on her husband's chest. Henry laid his hands over hers, smiling even as he vehemently refused to accept whatever she was asking of him. He brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and gingerly tucked it behind her ear, lacing their fingers together and swinging their arms back and forth. 

"Gross," Owain remarked, turning away as Olivia pecked Henry on the lips. 

"At least they love each other," Severa replied, causing Inigo to furrow his brow as he caught a slight hint of bitterness in her voice. 

He was, once again, dragged from his thoughts as Henry and Olivia began approaching their group.   
Lissa scurried over in the same moment, hauling Owain to his feet after speaking to him in a low voice, and leading him away. The other boy glanced over his shoulder as he was herded off, his concerned gaze locking with Inigo's puzzled one. He then looked to Severa, who appeared just as worried as he felt. Inigo spotted her father beckoning her a few yards away, and with that, she left. 

Hey-o, Inigo," his father greeted, looking rather gaunt. 

"What's going on?" Inigo asked, searching his parents' faces for any clues. They briefly exchanged glances, then began to lead Inigo to their tent in silence. 

Olivia took his smaller hand in her own, her other hand occupied by Henry's. He continued to swing their arms back in forth as if they were a pair of children.

"What's happening?" He repeated, his anxiety growing with every passing moment they remained silent.

"Not here, Love. Wait until we get inside," his mother replied softly, offering a small, weak smile that did nothing to calm Inigo's nerves. Once they reached the tent, Olivia closed the flaps and turned to face her son, folding her hands in front of her body in an effort to keep them from quaking.

"There's been... talk, lately. We feel as if we've been camped in one place for too long, and... we were right. A few scouts caught sight of Valmese troops not far from the border of our camp. Thanks to Gaius, we learned that they've planned an ambush that is set to take place tonight. We're putting together an army now to counter that attack," she explained, pursing her lips as she glanced up to her husband. Henry knelt down to Inigo's eye level, placing his hands on his son's shoulders.

"So, kiddo," he began, "that means you've gotta be extra helpful to your mom tonight, yeah? I'm gonna be gone for a while, but I'll be back as soon as the battle is over."

Inigo shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "You can't leave! Not now!"

Olivia, concern painting her features, combed her fingers soothingly through Inigo's hair.

"Inigo, what's wrong? Whenever we've gone to battle before, you've been fine," she murmured, glancing to Henry, who shrugged.

"I—" he began, his throat tightening. Olivia waited patiently, if not anxiously.

Inigo flashed back to Gerome's broken sobs when Chrom returned leading Cherche's wyvern, Minerva, the bodies of Gerome's parents on her back. He was never really the same as he was before after that. He drew into himself, snapped at others, kept his conversations clipped. It terrified Inigo.

"G-Gerome's parents," he gasped out, despite the tightness in his chest.

"Oh," said Olivia, kneeling and pulling her son into her arms. "My sweet boy..."

Henry joined in, throwing his arms around his wife and son.

"Don't you worry," he began, patting his son's back. "As appealing as blood sounds, I'm not gonna let ol' Death take me yet! I've got a perfect son and the love of my life to take care of! Well," he paused, grinning, "I guess they take care of me more than I take care of them. Nya ha!" Olivia managed a half smile, closing her eyes. Inigo took a shaky breath.

"Promise you'll come back?"

"I'll never leave you, Inigo. Never ever."

"Promise?" He prompted once more.

Inigo watched as Henry worried at his lip with his teeth, then forced a smile. He ruffled his son's snow-white hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, his hand tightening its grip on Inigo's shoulder.

"Promise."

•x•x•

The sun hadn't yet risen when the army returned to camp. Inigo heard the soft flap of Pegasus wings and the crunch of feet and hooves on old fallen leaves, as he never really fell asleep. He stood and padded to the entrance of the tent, glancing back to make sure he hadn't woken his mother, and was startled to find that his mother was awake, as well. He snatched his hands away from the tent flaps as if they were burned, shame from being caught sneaking out heating his cheeks.

"I-I was just—"

"I know," she whispered, "me, too."

They exited the tent together, peering through the darkness with only the light of the moon to illuminate the path. Shadows of returning Shepherds could be seen a couple dozen yards away, and mother and son made their way towards the group. A sudden shriek froze Inigo's blood in his veins, and he broke into a run, ignoring the bite of the stony ground against his bare feet.

He heard his mother shout his name, heard the patter of her feet, also bare, as she ran after him, but he didn't slow. He couldn't. He was a steam powered machine, the bitter sting of cold morning air rushing down his throat and filling his lungs ignored in favor of propelling him forward. He stopped in time to avoid barreling into Gregor, spotting Noire trembling like a leaf a few yards away. Her normally tanned skin was pale, as if she had seen a ghost. Maybe she had. As he caught his breath, Noire glanced up, meeting his gaze. She shrunk back from him with a whimper, something unreadable in her eyes. 

The crowd rumbled around them, voices low as they murmured amongst themselves. The sound of blood rushing in Inigo's ears prevented him from eavesdropping. As Olivia reached him, panting as she laid a hand on his shoulder for balance, Inigo watched Tharja forcibly turn her daughter to face her, presumably to scold her for causing such a commotion. Furrowing her brow, the Plegian glanced from her daughter to the crowd, her dark eyes widening minutely as they landed on Inigo and his mother. She straightened her posture, her gaze lingering on Inigo before focusing on Olivia. Inigo felt his mother stiffen behind him, clutching Inigo closer to her. Tharja's lips parted, then closed, as if she meant to speak and then thought better of it. Then, with a stiff nod to Olivia, she disappeared back into the crowd, dragging Noire with her.

"Something's not right," murmured Olivia. 

Inigo shivered and pressed closer to his mother, who unwrapped her shawl from her shoulders and draped it over Inigo's, wrapping him snugly. As Olivia led them through the crowd, it seemed to part around them. 

Inigo spotted Owain after a few moments, who was still scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. He blinked blearily, then met Inigo's eyes, smiling sleepily. Relief flooded Inigo's bones, making his knees weak. At least his best friend wasn't acting odd. Well, odder than usual.

As they progressed, Inigo spotted spotted a head of familiar white hair. His heart leapt into his throat, but before he could call out his father's name, the figure turned, and Robin's face came into view. Inigo swallowed thickly, relief slowly trickling away, replaced just as quickly with dread. Robin's face was stricken with... grief? Upon seeing Inigo and Olivia, Robin's expression quickly became neutral and controlled, eyes still filled with guilt. Chrom placed a hand on Robin's shoulder, squeezing gently, then faced the pair. Before Chrom could even open his mouth, Olivia was shaking her head.

"No," she said softly. "Please."

"Olivia—" Chrom began, eyes softening, hands clenching by his sides.

"Chrom, please," Olivia pleaded, her voice still soft as a whisper.

"Mom? What's happening?" Inigo asked, pleaded, his voice breaking without his consent.

Chrom glanced to Inigo, pain in his eyes as he took a deep breath.

"You're a brave boy. Such a brave boy, Inigo," Chrom began, smiling softly. He was trying too hard not to crumble before a child, Inigo could tell. He'd seen forced smiles from his father enough to practically become an expert at spotting them.

"I know you're strong. But it's okay to be scared. It's okay to feel weak, or— or broken. It's part of being strong. Swords can only cut after they've been tempered, right?"

Inigo nodded, eyes downcast. He already knew what was happening, could already feel the hot tears welling in his eyes. He didn't meet Chrom's gaze.

The prince stepped back, as did Robin, revealing Frederick, who held a dark bundle in his arms. Olivia inhaled sharply, but didn't weep. Not yet. Inigo trembled once more, but not because of the cold. Clutching his mother's shawl tightly around him, he took a step forward, legs wobbly.

"I'm sorry," whispered Robin, and Inigo knew the statement was genuine. 

"Why?" Inigo asked. Or, meant to ask. What really came out was a whimper. His mother sobbed behind him, broken-hearted.

"He promised," Inigo whispered. His stomach roiled.

Frederick knelt down, slowly, to gently lay Henry's body on the ground before Inigo, bowing his head.  
He looked peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. Inigo half expected his father to grab him and pull him into a hug, shouting some morbid joke about crows and the like that never failed to bring a smile to his face. That moment never came.  
Inigo couldn't really tell what he was feeling at that point. First, he was overwhelmed with grief. Second, he was terrified. Third, he was furious. He would never again be wrapped safely in his father's arms. What if he lost his mother, too? Why was he chosen to fight that night?

"He p-promised he would c-come back... He said he'd n-never leave me!" Inigo's words broke off into sobs as he cupped his father's cheek. He then directed his gaze to Chrom.

"Wh-why? Why did you make him leave?"

"Inigo," his mother warned shakily.

"It's alright," Chrom said, nodding to Olivia. "Let him."

"Why did—did he have to die?" Inigo hiccuped. He wanted to blame Chrom for the army. He wanted to blame Robin for the battle plan, and Frederick for bringing Henry's body back, but he couldn't. It wasn't anyone's fault, but he was so angry. He let out another strangled, anguished sob.

"Your father is the reason we won the battle. He saved all of us," said Chrom softly. Inigo continued to sob, clutching at his father's cloak.

"He created a diversion after the army was cornered, and allowed us to defeat the enemy, but he sacrificed himself in the process."

"Why c-couldn't you he-heal him..?"

"We couldn't have saved him. He requested that we leave him be."

Inigo remained silent, staring at his father's peaceful face. His skin was ice cold.

A familiar sound drew Inigo's attention skyward. One of his father's beloved crows descended gracefully, letting out a sound akin to a muffled caw as she landed just feet away from Inigo. Something clamped in her beak glinted in the moonlight as she hopped forward. She regarded Henry's body calmly, cocking her head, then bowed it as if paying respects. After nuzzling Henry's arm with a feathered head, she turned her sharp gaze on Inigo, eyes twinkling. She hopped forward once more, nudging the boy's hand with her ebony beak, before depositing something cold and smooth in his palm. Upon further inspection, the item appeared to be a ring; his father's wedding ring. The bird purred— if birds could truly purr— and bounced into Inigo's lap to nestle close to his body, probably seeking warmth (or maybe comfort). He slid his father's ring onto his thumb, as it was too big to fit anywhere else, and wiped his eyes. Frederick cleared his throat, drawing Inigo's attention, and presented him with two books— no, tomes— bound in leather.

"He requested that you have these," Frederick explained softly. Inigo hugged the books to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. They buzzed with magic, their humming soothing. 

Frederick stood, passing another dark bundle to Olivia, murmuring his apologies and something about the burial. Inigo attempted to block it out, instead retreating into his thoughts as he stroked the crow's iridescent feathers, still clutching his father's tomes. The ring on his finger— a white gold band with a deep red stone placed between two shimmering opals— glimmered in the moonlight. 

Inigo startled as he felt fingers carding through his hair, lips pressing a kiss to the top of his head, but when he opened his eyes, he saw no one: nothing but a memory of gleeful violet eyes vanishing into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y'all I hope your feels are still in one piece. I made myself sad writing this. Anwho, thanks for reading!! Feedback is appreciated ^^


	7. XI - XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inigo is a mess and Owain is #1 friend of the year

**XI**

"Mom?" Inigo asked timidly, peeking into his mother's tent.

Olivia glanced up, startled, from the rather messy-looking scarf she had just been attempting to weave. A half eaten piece of pie lay on a dish on the table beside her. Her face flushed when she noticed Inigo taking in the sight of her failed scarf and late evening snack. "A-ah, Lissa, er... Lissa gave me that pie. She and Gaius made it."

She paused to clear her throat, noting the nervous look on her son's face, and frowned a bit. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

  
Inigo stepped into the tent, hands clasped behind his back and gaze trained at the floor. "Um... How did... how did Dad talk to you when you first met?"

  
Olivia blinked a few times, somewhat taken aback by this out-of-the-blue question. Inigo's cheeks grew pink as he kicked at a stray pebble that had found its way into the tent.

"Well... I actually approached your father first. I was a little nervous, to tell you the truth, but it wasn't because I liked him," she admitted, smiling a bit at the memory as she reminisced. "I was a little afraid of him. You know how your father could be. But I was determined to talk to him, so I just... did. He found this injured puppy, and I was so afraid he was going to kill it... I just willed myself to talk to him, for that puppy's sake. And here we are now." She pursed her lips, staring down at her lap, then glanced up at her young son once more. "Why do you ask?"

  
"U-uh," he stammered, his face flushing darker, "Just wondering..?"

  
Olivia raised an eyebrow, leveling her son with a searching gaze before her eyes widened, as did her smile.

  
"Oh! How exciting! My baby's first crush..."

  
As Inigo groaned, she giggled with glee, setting her scarf aside and jumping to her feet. Ignoring her son's protests of, "Mooooom", she clasped her hands together, buzzing with energy. "Who is it? Oh, I'm so happy for you!"

  
Inigo frowned, glancing hesitantly to his mother. He had a certain two people in mind, but for now, he'd only indulge his mother with one name. He then mumbled something under his breath and spun around to leave.

"Inigo, honey, you have to speak up. Now... I know I sound pushy, but I'm just curious about my son's life. After all, you _are_ my only child, and-"

  
"Lucina."

  
Olivia trailed off, eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. "Pardon?"

  
"It's Lucina, okay? I like her. A lot. But I'm too scared to talk to her. I'm just... I get so nervous talking to anyone. Anyone that isn't Owain, at least." Inigo sighed, flopping into the nearest chair. "Mom, what's wrong with me? I can't do anything..." He sounded pitiful and Olivia felt awful for him. He'd inherited her shyness, it seemed.

  
"Oh, baby... Nothing's wrong with you. I was the same way when I was your age."  
Inigo picked his head up and looked to his mother, mouth still pulled into a frown. Frowns didn't suit him as well as smiles did, Olivia thought.

  
"How did you... y'know... get over it?"  
The dancer pursed her lips, thinking. "Ah... I talked to people. A lot. Mostly girls. They tend to be easier to approach."

  
First, Inigo furrowed his brow. Then his eyes widened, apparently horrified at the prospect of talking to a girl.

  
"Girls? M-Mom, you know I can't—"

  
"Sure you can," Olivia assured him gently. "You're growing up, love. It's time for you to come out of your shell. I'll be with you every step of the way. Now... start simple."

  
"Simple?" Inigo looked dubious. "How?"

  
"Lets see... how about talking to Severa? You know, Cordelia's girl? I've heard she's very... approachable."

  
Inigo didn't feel even slightly more relieved. Every time he'd encountered Severa, he'd been too intimidated to speak to her. She always seemed to have a scowl on her face, her quips always biting. Nonetheless, he bit his lip in thought.

"Okay," he agreed at last. "I'll start with Severa, then maybe when I'm comfortable, I'll be able to talk to Lucina. Um," he then paused, his gaze trained back on the floor, "Thank you, Mom."

  
"You're welcome, dear."

  
**XII**

Inigo made his way through the forest near camp with a bucket in hand, tasked with gathering water to give to Vaike in the kitchen. It was a beautiful day, however, so Inigo didn't mind. He could hear the creek burbling softly nearby, watching as birds flitted about amongst the treetops. A bumblebee hurtled clumsily through the air near his ear, startling him for a moment, and he watched it land (or fall) on a tiny, nearby flower that it weighed down considerably.

  
As he approached the creek, the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs drew his attention. Inigo immediately backed himself against a tree, his gaze flitting through the dense underbrush around him. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and his hand flew to the dagger at his hip that his father had gotten for him for his eighth birthday (though his mother didn't allow him to handle it until the previous year). Upon further inspection, he caught a flash of pink, then one of white as a flash of golden light nearly blinded him.

  
Furrowing his brow, he quietly padded through the brush until he reached the edge of a small clearing. Pollen in the air swirled and glinted in the dying light around Olivia as she spun, dipped, and leapt elegantly, each of her moves fluid and hypnotizing. Inigo found himself entranced.

When he was younger, he often mimicked his mother's dances, attempting to move as elegantly as she did. His father had attempted to help him a few times, but it seemed no amount of dance lessons from Olivia could help her husband. He'd trip and fall in a heap of black and violet, tangled in his cloak. When Inigo pawed at his arms to help him stand, he'd grab his son and pull him down, too, squealing with laughter. Inigo shook his head, willing the thoughts away.

  
He'd always loved to dance, but he'd never actually learned and memorized one to perform; he'd just dabbled in it, practicing a few moves that didn't belong to any specific dance. The sight of his mother dancing ignited his passion for dance once more. As he moved to crouch in a more comfortable position, his bucket clanged against a nearby rock. Olivia paused, her twirl interrupted as she jerked to a halt. She righted herself easily without a stumble, and her eyes darted to the direction of the sound.

His chances of slipping away without being spotted were very slim, as his mother always had a keen eye. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the underbrush and into the clearing, hoping to avoid the sharp end of her sword. His mother, upon spotting him, looked both startled and relieved.

"O-oh! Inigo! Why— why are you here? And," she paused, eyeing the pail in confusion, "why do you have a bucket..?"

  
"Er, I was fetching water. But, that's not important," Inigo began, his expression suddenly turning serious, "I need you to teach me that dance."

  
Olivia blinked once, twice, obviously taken aback just the slightest bit. Then, her cheeks flared cherry red.

  
"Oh! Y-you saw me? Dancing..? Oh..."  
She paused, pursing her lips, and seemed to calm slightly as Inigo's statement finally sunk in. She met her son's gaze, eyes bright.

  
"You... you'd really like to learn?"  
Inigo nodded solemnly, then smiled.

  
"I'd love to."

Olivia laughed gleefully, covering her son's free hand with both of her own. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you to ask! I've always wanted to teach you."

"You have?"

"Of course! Here. Do you have time to start now?"

  
Inigo broke into a wide grin, looking, for an instant, like the spitting image of his father.

•x•x•

Night after night, he came back to that clearing, practicing his mother's dance until his feet ached so badly that he could barely walk back to their tent.  
One night, he'd been practicing the latest piece of the dance for hours. As he spun, he attempted to transition to the next move, and stumbled. Every. Single. Time.

  
He was driven nearly to the brink of tears, resorting to taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm himself, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He blinked away the mistiness and squinted into the dark, startling as a twig snapped. Dagger in hand, he was poised to fight (or run, if it was a Risen), when a figure appeared from the brush.

  
Inigo straightened, eyeing the newcomer carefully, fearfully, as she watched him in turn.

  
"That was... amazing."

  
Inigo's eyes widened. Lucina's eyes were bright, even in the dark. Her hair was longer now, if a bit wild, cascading over her shoulders. She wore a rather odd choice of clothing for an outfit: a long, light blue tunic that fell just to her knees (which may have been made to be longer, but the effect was lost on Lucina's tall form), pale green socks that came just below the knee, and an old pair of worn, brown, leather boots, the mouth of the shoe flopping over the rest of the boot. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and Inigo's eyes followed her hand.

  
"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you. You can continue if you'd like."

  
Inigo cleared his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  
"I— um, I'm gonna— uh," he said eloquently, his mouth feeling remarkably dry as he floundered for words.

  
"Inigo?" Lucina asked, frowning ever so slightly. "Are you alright?"

  
 _"Yes, I'm perfectly fine."_ He'd meant to say.

 _"Just a little startled, that's all,"_ he'd continue.

 _"You look lovely, by the way,"_ he'd add, priding himself on his newly found confidence, thanks to his mother's advice.

Instead, he let out a rather embarrassing squeak, spun on his heel, and ran.

  
•x•x•

  
He returned two nights later, this time with his mother's ribbons. After his father's passing, he and his mother had received his possessions at the time of his death, one of which being a pair of golden rings that he had worn on his legs, keeping his black tights in place.

As Inigo sat on his knees in the clearing, he tied one end of his mother's sheer pink ribbon to each ring, then inspected his handiwork. Satisfied, he stood, holding a ring in each hand as he began to dance, the ribbon flowing with each of his movements.

He danced and danced, his movements muscle memory after so much practice, and only stopped hours later when his legs quaked and his feet had begun to bleed. He'd failed to register the pain until he stopped his movements, and idly wondered if there was something special about his mother's dance. She always said it imbued warriors with strength on the battlefield whenever she performed it. Maybe it had strengthened him, as well.

Gathering up the few belongings he had, he trudged out of the clearing, groaning at the twinge of a pulled muscle in his calf. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he nearly stumbled over a basket laying at the edge, hidden amongst the weeds. Eyeing it with scrutiny, he knelt down slowly (very slow, everything ached and he was certain he just heard his knees creak), pulling the rather large woven basket into his lap.

It was full of healing supplies: bandages, a cold press that still felt delightfully cool, salves, water, and two bottles of vulnerary. Tucked between a roll of bandages and the flask of water was a ripped-but-otherwise-intact piece of paper, which Inigo picked up with curiosity.

  
" _To the mightiest of dancers,_ " it read in familiar, messy scrawl.

Brows furrowed, Inigo opened the note, finding nothing but a carefully drawn stick figure with a sword in one hand and a ribbon in the other. As Inigo tucked the note back into the basket, he smiled to himself, despite the feeling of mortification bubbling up from with in that stemmed from the thought that Owain had seen him dancing. The boy shook it off, asserting to himself that Owain didn't care, he was his best friend. Even if Inigo danced like a ham someone rolled down the stairs, Owain would still love it.

  
Spirits up, Inigo stood slowly (very slowly, his knees still creaked in protest), tucked his ribbon into the basket, and made his way back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo my loves, the next chapter should be up within the next few days. Exams suck so I'm going slow ^^" anywho, thanks for reading!! Feedback is awesome as always


	8. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hint of the future to come.

Over the next few months, loss after loss began to tear the army apart. The army was weakened considerably, and enemy forces knew, no matter how strong of a façade Chrom put up as he led the remaining army into battle. Considering Robin was becoming wary for reasons even Chrom was tight lipped about, the army was practically in shambles. It put a considerable weight on each soldier's shoulders, and it showed on Olivia's face each time Inigo saw her. He noticed every new stress line, dark circle, and tense movement, wishing he could help her, but not sure how to do so.

A breath of relief came in the form of a time of peace a few days after Inigo's thirteenth birthday. Lissa and Olivia had made him the best dessert they could manage in the time they had, with the help of Gaius, who begrudgingly relinquished some sweets from his stash.

While the mothers— with the help of Gaius— got to work on setting up the makeshift party, Owain and Inigo snuck away to escape the chaos.

"It's kinda nice, y'know?" Owain started, kicking a stray pebble from his path. Frederick must have missed it this morning, and Inigo stifled a giggle at the thought.

"Mm?" he replied instead, watching the pebble scuttle across the dirt.

"The peace and stuff. It's nice not to worry about our parents for once, right?"

"Yeah. I actually feel kinda relaxed."

"You should! Plus, you're a teenager now. You're basically an adult."

Inigo grinned at this, cuffing Owain gently on the arm. "I wish. Mom's not gonna treat me any differently, though. You just watch; she's still gonna keep me from using my dad's tomes 'until I'm older'," he mumbled, mimicking his mother as he added the last part, quotation marks and all. Owain snorted, cuffing Inigo in return.

They walked around camp in comfortable silence, stopping by the mess tent to sneak some cheese and fruit while Frederick's back was turned. Juice from the peach Inigo had nabbed was running down his chin as Owain caught his attention, digging around in his pocket while motioning for Inigo to wait.

He stopped and took that moment to use his tunic to wipe his mouth (relishing in the fact that his mother wasn't around to scold him for the action), cocking his head at his best friend as he quickly hid his hands behind his back.

"What is it? Better not be a bug," Inigo queried, giving Owain an accusatory once-over. He hated bugs, and so did his mother. Of course, his father never minded them. Henry was always in charge of getting spiders out of the tent a night when Inigo was younger.

"It's not a bug, you scaredy cat. And stop looking at me like that," the red haired boy laughed, rocking on his heels as he grinned at his friend. "It's for you."  
"For me?"

"For your birthday. Duh."

"I know that, you dork. But... you didn't have to do that."

Owain rolled his eyes. "I know I didn't _have_  to. I wanted to. You're my best friend, of course I'm gonna give you a gift."

  
With that, Owain revealed his clasped hands, then opened them. Inside was a smooth, sleek ribbon made of what appeared to be silk, dyed a beautiful shade of blue. Golden thread decorated the edges of the fabric, sewn in with expert precision.

  
"Owain," Inigo breathed, wide eyes briefly flicking up to focus on his friend before darting back to the gift in his hands. "Gods, its— its beautiful..."

  
Owain pursed his lips, watching Inigo carefully. "But..?" he prompted, catching the slight tension apparent near Inigo's eyes.

  
"I... I can't take this, Owain. It must have cost a fortune."

  
"Nah, it wasn't bad. I had to haggle the lady; I pulled some sweet moves, and I think she thought I was super cool and lowered the price. Or maybe she just felt bad for me. Then I brought it home and my mom did the gold stitching and stuff. Thought you'd like it."

  
Inigo gingerly lifted the ribbon from Owain's cupped hands and held it in his own, feeling the slick material with his thumb.

  
"I thought it'd be nice for you to have when you dance, instead of taking your mom's ribbons. And silk will last a long time, plus it looks super cool when it reflects light and stuff. And I thought the blue was perfect, because I know it's your fa— oof!" Owain's spiel was cut off by Inigo's bone crushing hug, the wind knocked from him as Inigo crashed into him.

  
"I love it... I love it so much. Thank you, Owain. Gods," he murmured, his voice light and airy from glee as he nearly squeezed the life from his best friend.

  
"Y-you're crushin' me here, buddy. Gotta breathe..."

  
Inigo pulled away, eyes shining in the dying light as he clutched the ribbon to his chest. "Sorry. I just... wow..."  
Owain's grin was blinding.

•x•x•

Owain lay on the floor of Inigo and Olivia's tent, hands pressed to his aching midsection as Inigo burst into a fit of laughter.

  
"'S not funny... it was just... so good," he groaned.

  
"Shouldn't have eaten that much then, you dork," Inigo retorted, grinning as Lissa nodded along knowingly from the corner of the tent.

  
"Get up, squirt. Show the birthday kiddo some respect," Gaius piped up jokingly, still shoveling dessert into his own mouth. Owain groaned once more as he hauled himself into a sitting position, hand still on his belly. Inigo rolled his eyes and joined him on the floor, criss-crossing his legs and heaving out a sigh.

"It _was_  really good, though. I'm kinda stuffed, but at least I know when to stop."

  
Owain bristled, scowling. "Hey! The greatest compliment to someone is eating their food and enjoying it."

  
"Not eating three tons of it until you throw it up."

  
As the boys dissolved into snickers, Olivia shook her head fondly. She then retrieved an item wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, then carried it in her arms to her son. Inigo's laughter faded, as did Owain's, as they scrutinized the package curiously. It was an odd shape: strangely long, but blunt at the end, with a few lumps here and there. Inigo took it from his mother and cradled it as if it were a child, then held it to his ear and shook it. It jingled..? Furrowing his brow, he glanced up to his mother, who smiled softly and motioned for him to open it.

  
"It's yours, love. Happy birthday."

  
"Thanks, Mom," Inigo replied softly, grasping the twine.

As he began to pull, a scream pierced the air from somewhere in camp. Gaius was out of the tent in an instant, no doubt going to defend the camp if needed. Shouts and commands could be heard outside, and Inigo clutched the package to his chest.

  
"What's happening?" he asked fearfully, glancing from Lissa to Olivia, who shared a brief, unreadable glance. As calm as one could be in a situation like this, Olivia beckoned the two boys and shepherded them to the entrance of the tent. She grabbed her sword and unsheathed it before leading them out, Lissa close behind with a staff in hand. They slipped swiftly around the back of the tent, and Inigo attempted to shut out the sounds of metal clashing with metal, grunts and groans and screams, and sounds that didn't sound... human.  
Olivia paused briefly to face them, determination clear on her still-elegant features.

  
"You will go to the forest together and stay there until we come to get you. Should you get separated, do not shout for each other; just stay out and we will find you when it is safe. Do you understand?"

  
The boys nodded. Owain sniffled, glancing to his mother, who promptly gathered him into her arms for a hug. "You'll be okay, Owie," she whispered, pulling away and coaxing him toward the tree line. Tears already stained his cheeks.

  
"M-Mother, what if—" Inigo began shakily, fearfully, hands trembling as they clutched the package. Olivia laid down her sword and cupped his face in her hands, smiling softly, though her eyes shone with tears yet to fall.  
"It will be alright, my Inigo. It will all be alright."

  
She tensed as the sounds of battle drew nearer, then guided her son closer to the forest's edge.  
"Go, Inigo. I'll see you later. I love you."

  
Even as dread gripped his heart, Inigo nodded, managing a weak, "Love you," before Olivia was dashing off with Lissa, sword in hand.

  
He took off in a sprint into the forest before he could see anything he would regret, with Owain struggling after him. They ran blindly, deeper and deeper into the forest until the underbrush thickened and the air filled with the chirps and buzzes of bugs instead of the screams and shouts of the Shepherds. Inigo's ankle met a woody vine laying on the forest floor, hooking him and sending him sprawling onto the ground, package flying. As Owain caught up to him, he nearly suffered the same fate, only to catch himself and step carefully over the vine to help his friend up. Inigo allowed himself to be lifted, sitting amongst the leaves and hidden by the thicket around them. Owain gingerly handed him the package, which he clutched like a lifeline. He raised his head to thank his friend, but the other's knowing, comforting smile told all.

  
They sat in silence for hours, days, years, millennia, until Owain nudged Inigo and looked pointedly to the package.

  
"Aren't you gonna open it?"

  
Inigo shrugged, then nodded noncommittally. It was possibly the last thing he had from his mother, and he felt opening it would ruin that fact. Nonetheless, he took the twine in his fingers and pulled it apart, carefully unwrapping the items.

The first thing he noticed was a black velvet pouch that tinkled and chimed, rolling onto the leaves with a rather heavy sounding thud. Upon further inspection, the pouch appeared to contain dozens of gold and silver coins. The next item he noticed also slipped out of the package: a heap of shining, jingling metal. No... a belt. His mother's dancing belt. Ignoring the tightness in his throat, he pulled the paper completely away to reveal another velvet pouch, with appeared to contain a bottle of some sort. He uncorked the bottle and was met with a soft, sweet scent that reminded him of roses and pine sap: scented salve. The final gift was a long, leather sheath. Owain gasped as Inigo grasped the hilt and pulled, revealing a beautiful silver sword, polished until Inigo could see his face in the blade.

  
"A silver sword?" Owain remarked incredulously. "Those are so awesome! Is it really yours?"

  
"I... I hope so," Inigo replied, equally disbelieving as he ran his fingers over the elegantly forged metal. The hilt was decorated with elaborate botanical designs, with a large blue stone with many reflective facets set just below the base of the blade.

  
"Oh, Mother," he breathed shakily, his knuckles bleached white from the force of his grip on the beautiful sword.  
"It's gonna be okay," Owain said softly, shuffling closer to Inigo and gazing at the mirror-like blade. The older boy could have sworn he saw a flash of gray, blonde, and red on its surface, but when he blinked, it was gone.

•x•x•

Hours upon hours had passed since Inigo and Owain entered the forest. The white haired boy knew he should heed his mother's advice, but could the battle have really dragged on until nightfall? He longed to investigate, and finally managed to convince Owain to go back to camp with him.

They made their long trek back, with Owain insisting they navigate by the stars (he'd recently been reading all of his mother's old books). When the edge of the forest came into view, Inigo took off running once again, leaping and bounding over underbrush with Owain tumbling behind him. His bones iced over at the sight that met them when they reached the edge of camp.

The moon illuminated the area just enough for the boys to pick out destroyed tents, broken weapons, and lifeless figures splayed on the ground. Inigo startled as Owain's hand clutched the back of his tunic.

"I-I saw— Inigo, have to—" the red haired boy stammered, trailing off as his voice broke. Inigo swallowed thickly, slowly making his way to his own tent, avoiding catching sight of anyone he might recognize on the ground. Owain still clutched Inigo's tunic as if it were his lifeline. It may have very well been.

  
Dread gripped Inigo's heart as he finally reached his tent. The canvas walls had been slashed, leaving the tent sagging to one side, the fabric frayed and flapping in the cool night air. The boy reached for Owain's wrist, instead meeting his hand, which immediately squeezed his own with trembling fingers; he obviously needed some sort of contact for comfort.

  
The pair entered through what used to be the front flaps of the tent, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. The only oil lamp his family owned had been knocked over, its contents soaked into the dirt, so Inigo recalled the simple spell for fire, muttering it until a tiny flame hovered in his palm. The fire illuminated the tent, which proved to be trashed and devoid of life (or death).

  
He was sure if he was relieved or terrified, but he nonetheless let out the breath he had been holding, then focused on rummaging through what few belongings they had.

  
"Wh-what are you looking for?" Owain whispered.

  
"My dad's tomes, some of my stuff and my mom's things."

  
"Why..?"

  
Inigo was silent. They both knew why, but he hadn't the heart to shatter what little hope Owain was still clutching onto.

  
He continued shuffling, finding a burlap sack which he promptly filled with the birthday gifts from his mother that he had previously stuffed into his pockets (besides the sword, which was clipped neatly to his belt in its sheath).

  
Owain eventually let go of his hand and aided him in digging through the mess of overturned shelves and broken chairs and bent books, managing a proud smile when he found one of the tomes, along with the dancing hoops Inigo made out of the rings Henry used to hold up his tights on his legs. Inigo took them gratefully, placing them in the bag along with two other tomes he had found, and his father's old cape.

  
The sound of the tent flaps flying open caused the boys to whip around, wide eyed and staring at the swiftly approaching figure. Before he could think, Inigo was already lobbing the flame in his hand at the figure, eyes widening in horror as the light illuminated a pair of familiar, moss green pigtails. Severa leapt back with a gasp, her gaze, devoid of its usual discontent, flicking to Inigo and Owain before becoming obscured by roaring flames.

  
"Severa?" Inigo called, backing away from fire lapping hungrily at the air around them.

  
"What did you do?" came her shout on the other side of the wall of flames.

  
"Th-there was a broken lamp, and the oil spilled on the ground! My fire probably ignited it!" he called back, stepping away from the flames. The heat was almost unbearable already.

  
"You think?" she replied, exasperated.

The fire spat out an ember, then another, which began to land on broken furniture and books, setting them alight. The boys backed away from the flames, only to be cornered by new ones forming behind them.

  
"You have to get out!" Severa shouted, her voice tinged with genuine concern. It took Inigo aback briefly, but he spent little time on the thought, already preoccupied with staying away from the raging fire before them.

  
"We can see that!" Owain called back, voice high and fearful. The dancer glanced back to his friend, searching his gaze for any semblance of a blooming idea. All he saw was fear and the reflection of the flames.

His heart felt ready to beat out of his chest, but, thinking fast, he unsheathed his sword and clumsily pierced the fabric, struggling with the weight of the blade. In an adrenaline fueled sweep, he sliced the canvas open, then grabbed the burlap sack and ran, feeling Owain latch onto his tunic once more. Inigo's chest heaved, as did Owain's, and just as they prepared to slow down, Severa clutched the sleeves of their tunics and jerked them further away from the tent, which was quickly being devoured by the flames.

  
"What were you thinking?" she demanded in a hiss. "Fire in a tent full of flammable things?"

  
"Yeah," Owain managed, pausing to take a breath. "that was pretty dumb, Inigo."  
Inigo scowled at his friend, who offered a small smile in return. Sighing, the boy then turned his gaze on Severa.

  
"What... what happened here? Did anyone..?"

  
"We can talk later. I'll tell you everything," Severa promised, her tone resolute. "Right now, we have to get out. The light from this fire could attract more of them."

  
"Them..?" Owain piped up meekly.

  
"Later. Come on." Severa jerked her head towards the forest opposite the side Inigo and Owain hid in previously. As they followed, they kept their gazes up and away from the ground, glancing down only enough to see Severa as she walked.

  
As his mind reeled with thousands of thoughts, Inigo couldn't stop himself; he finally glanced around camp, his steps faltering as he spotted a head of long, light hair, matted with dirt. He must have stopped walking because Owain ran right into his back, his nose knocking into Inigo's shoulder blade. Owain had always been tiny, and, normally, Inigo would be prepared with a playful quip following an action like that, but he hadn't the heart of the ability to do so at the moment.

  
"Are you guys coming? Or— oh." Severa stopped as well, following Inigo's anguished gaze to the crumpled form on the ground.

  
"I... Look," she began slowly, carefully, choosing her words wisely. "I know... I know it's hard. But we don't have time to mourn. Not now. They... they're still nearby. We can't risk it."

  
"She's my _mother_ , Severa," Inigo snapped, causing her eyes to widen in shock. "You— you want me to just... leave her here?"

  
"Inigo, please. We don't have any other choice. You don't think I hate to leave my parents, too? We have to keep going."

  
"What good will that do? We're a bunch of kids!"

  
"We _have_ to. We can't just... If we don't do something, our parents would have died in vain. We have to continue where they left off. All of us."

  
Inigo was silenced with this. Owain gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze as Severa turned and began to walk once more. He noted the tension in her movements and the slight tremor in her voice, realizing she was just as torn apart as he was, but better at hiding it.

  
"I... I need to do something," he murmured to Owain before moving to his mother's side, kneeling beside her body. Rather, his legs gave out, sending his knees roughly into the dirt.

He barely registered the pain as his gaze roamed over his mother's beautiful face, and he was almost fooled into thinking she was merely sleeping. Owain settled beside him, startling him, but his warmth was a welcome comfort.

  
"Don't y-you... want to find your parents..?"

  
He shook his head, his lips pursed, most likely to hold back tears.

  
"I... I think it's for the best," he said simply before scrubbing at his eyes, his breathing turning ragged.

Inigo let out a whimper as he gingerly removed his mother's wedding ring and pulled the chain that held his father's ring from around his neck. He unhooked the clasp and let Olivia's ring join Henry's, then looped it back around his neck. A sob escaped him as he removed his mother's white headband as well, wrapping it around his wrist until it fit snugly.

  
"I love you, Mother," he whispered as he clasped her hand once more. "I love you. I-I'll see you later. S-someday, okay? I-I'll never le-leave you..."

  
As he stood on quaking legs, Severa pulled him into a stiff, but welcome hug. He hadn't even heard her approach.

  
"Let's go," she murmured, beginning to lead the boys away from camp and from everything they ever knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super long chapter for you all! I promise we're gonna get to the Good Stuff soon!! Thank you for reading and sticking with me through this little hiatus! Comments are always appreciated <3


	9. XVII - XVIII

**XVII**

The new Shepherds had been going strong for nearly four years, picking up where their parents left off as best as they could. Many found it disturbing that Robin, one of the most trusted figures in the Shepherds, turned out to be the root cause of the raid that killed nearly everyone four years previous. Most of the second generation forgave Robin, however, since the tactician's mortal soul was also a victim of the brutal attack. All that remained was a husk of a human, prepared to transform into its true form when the time came. It wasn't Robin's fault in the least; the kind tactician hadn't the slightest idea of the presence of fell dragon within, and fought to the very end to ensure the safety of the children left in camp during the raid.

Presently, Inigo sat between Owain and Brady, staring at the crackling fire in front of them. Its light highlighted the features of the rest of the children of the army gathered around it, all pulled into anxious expressions as they thought over the battle plan for the next morning.  
The world was slowly descending into chaos thanks to the fell dragon, with entire villages razed by fire while others only minutes away were shaken by earthquakes unfelt by anyone around them. Even towns and cities far inland were ravaged by fierce storms seen only by coastal villages. As if situations couldn't get any worse, the dead were rising.

They marched into the heart of Plegia in the morning, a thought that hung heavy over every Shepherd; so much so that the group was completely silent. Inigo found the silence to be deafening.

He stood from the log he had perched himself on and stalked to his tent, feeling everyone's eyes burning into his back, then returned shortly with a book— no, a tome— in hand, and sat back in the spot he had left. As he sat, he flipped through the pages before finally stopping at a familiar spell, closing his eyes, and picturing the fire in his mind. Holding his hand out towards the bonfire, he curled his fingers into a fist, the rest of the second generation of Shepherds watching him curiously as his palm began to tingle. In a flourish, he flipped his hand over, palm side up, and splayed his fingers.

In that same instant, the bonfire split into thousands upon thousands of individual, flickering embers, which rose up and flitted about like fireflies on a summer night. All at once, almost everyone leapt to their feet (or at least straightened their posture), staring up at the floating embers above their heads. Inigo smiled, standing and moving his arms gracefully, slender fingers moving in tandem with wrists, as smooth as a river. The embers danced and swirled, mimicking the movements of Inigo's hands, aided by wind and magic alike. They wove in and out of the group in a steady, glowing stream.

Trembling, Yarne ducked under the rapid flow of fire, hiding behind a log. Owain laughed aloud as the embers swirled around him. Brady reeled backwards as one ember hovered in front of his nose, crackling and shimmering. Even Lucina smiled, glancing to Severa, who managed to crack a smile, as well.

Brady had disappeared momentarily to retrieve his violin (and to escape being set ablaze by stray embers), then returned to stand beside Inigo, idly beginning to play some cheerful shanty he had undoubtably heard in a tavern on their journeys. Silently, Lucina held her hand out to Severa, asking for a dance, inspiring Nah to do the same to Noire and Yarne. She didn't give them much of a chance to reject the offer, for she grabbed both of them, beginning to spin them in a circle, laughing all the way. Morgan attempted to coax Gerome to stand, but he continued to stare daggers at the charred logs in the fire pit. Cynthia then joined Morgan, both grabbing one of the wyvern rider's arms and hoisting him up. With a roll of his eyes, he allowed the others to drag him up and spin him around in an impromtu dance. Owain nudged Laurent playfully, who continued to stand stoically, much like Gerome. With a sigh, the mage finally relented, and began to tap his foot to the beat of Brady's upbeat tune.

Inigo felt his chest tighten, unsure if the cause was happiness or nostalgia. Then, he simply smiled, even though he felt like he couldn't spare another smile in his life.

 

**XVIII**

"We have to go! Now!" Lucina commanded, the wind whipping viciously around them as the portal threatened to close. The relentless winds were whipped up by the recent, unstable weather conditions most likely caused by the impending apocalypse. Nothing surprised Inigo anymore, except maybe the discovery of time travel.

The white haired teen swallowed hard, glancing back at the other children. Many looked as unsure as he did.

"You're sure this will work? What if— what if we get separated? Or sent to the wrong time?" Inigo yelled over the roaring gusts, wincing as flying debris stung his face.  
Lucina pursed her lips and held out her hand.

"We'll hold onto each other! It's either stay and die, or leave and fight!" she replied, her expression determined.

"Take my hand!"

Inigo glanced at the rapidly shrinking portal one last time before clasping hands with Lucina, reaching back to grab Owain's hand behind him. The children created a chain, gripping onto each other so as to stay together throughout their travel through time.

"Now!" cried Lucina as she took a running leap into the portal, dragging the line of children with her. Inigo heard Grima roar in the distance behind them and trembled, squeezing his eyes shut as he passed through the mouth of the portal and into empty space.

Instantly, he felt, heard, and saw nothing and everything at the same time. He was dimly aware of the fact that he didn't feel Lucina or Owain's hands in his own anymore, but he couldn't recall loosening his grip even a fraction. He couldn't feel much of anything, really. It was rather peaceful. He briefly wondered if he was dead before the universe began to shake, shatter, and roar all around him.

When his eyes finally snapped open, he saw nothing, as if he were in a pitch black room and couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. Then, he began to see sparks. Were they sparks? Fireflies? No, visions. Inigo could make out dark indigo hair and a small, gold tiara. Three women with three pegasi. Two children with twin divine marks on their hands. A blazing sword. Green eyes. A huge dragon. Bright red hair. Long, sky blue hair and a white dress. No, a black dress. A black crown atop a head of golden curls. The past, present, and future all at once.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched noise not unlike a scream, and Inigo gasped for air, hitting something hard and cold. The light was too bright for him to open his eyes. Where was he..? As he slowly came to, he felt grass beneath his fingers. It was wet, as if it had just rained. Inigo hadn't seen rain in years.

He steadied his breathing and attempted to open his eyes once more, squinting against the bright sunlight. It was warm against his skin. The sky was blue, not red. The light glinted off of the two rings on a chain around his neck; his mother's and his father's. Glancing at his surroundings, he found that he was utterly and completely alone. Just as he thought. Steeling himself, he slowly stood on unsteady legs, peering into the distance as he blocked the sun with his hand. Shimmering shapes lay just on the horizon, appearing to be... buildings!

"A village?" he murmured, hope flaring in his heart. Dusting himself off and combing a hand through his hair, Inigo began his trek toward that lone village, hoping for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive got the next few chapters already written out! I've even gotten Inigo's meeting with Xander outlined bc I have no self control ^^" anywho, thanks for reading!! <3


	10. XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

**XX**

"Hah!"

Inigo grinned victoriously, successfully disarming the bandit and brandishing his sword. "You didn't think you could best me, could you?"

The bandit, with wide, panicked eyes, took a few steps back, then took off running in the opposite direction. The mercenary spared a glance over his shoulder to the pretty village maiden he'd had his eyes on all day. She stared back, her beautiful green eyes awestruck. She surely couldn't reject him after this!

It seemed that the few bandits he had initially faced had brought friends. And those friends brought friends. Hm. Inigo saved his anxiety for later; he had a village to save, after all.

He bested bandit after bandit, but soon began to feel incredibly fatigued. Not only that, but the damned thieves seemed to be multiplying; as soon as one had been disarmed, three more took his place. Inigo was quickly becoming surrounded, unable to defend the village he called home. Rolling his shoulders and steeling his nerves, he resumed fighting, facing the fact it was very likely he may not win this battle. Suddenly, a sword that was most definitely not his blocked a blow aiming straight for his chest. He watched as the sword swung around, metal scraping metal, and tore the bandit's sword straight from his grip with expert precision.

"You all right?"

Inigo didn't bother sparing a glance toward the source of the voice, too busy countering the attacks of the new wave of brigands to do so.

"Me? Hah! It takes more than that to wound a rogue this charming! Now then, who are you?" He parried a blow aiming for his stomach, and ducked under a sword swung wildly at his head. "Not an enemy, it seems?"

"No," replied the other man, judging from the sound of his voice, "My name is Chrom. Leader of the Shepherds. It seems our purpose is shared, as we came to deal with bandits, as well."

Inigo nearly dropped his sword, whipping around to stare at his commander. Chrom appeared much, much younger, which shocked Inigo. He was so young, he couldn't be much older than twenty. He was very handsome, Inigo noted, his elegant features drawn into that concerned expression the dancer was all too familiar with. Just to be sure, he snuck a glance to Chrom's bicep. The brand was there, as true as day. As Chrom continued to stare back, Inigo strangely began to feel scrutinized under his gaze.

"Ah, please... don't stare like that. I, uh... I get terribly shy..."

Chrom blinked a few times, then furrowed his brow.

"Er, alright. Apologies."

Inigo stepped in front of Chrom to counter a blow from a bandit, throwing them backwards with a kick to the chest.

"Can I trust you to defend this place?" asked Inigo, motioning for Chrom to follow as he took off down an alleyway. He wasn't sure how much of an army Chrom had assembled yet, if any. Chrom followed, albeit hesitantly. He continued to watch Inigo carefully.

"I don't know," came his even reply, "what are you planning?"

He was obviously suspicious. Yet another reminder that no one remembered him in this world.

"I aim to crush the rogues that make trouble for this village, of course! Once that lot is sorted out, I'm off to tea with... with a beautiful maiden. Ah..."  
He frowned to himself. Or maybe not. He may have to sacrifice his tea-time if Chrom truly had the Shepherds with him.

•x•x•

After the battle, not only did Inigo earn a handshake from Chrom, but a kiss from that maiden. Elated, he turned to thank Chrom once more for his assistance when he caught sight of a familiar head of pink hair. Excusing himself, he wove his way through the crowd of Shepherds, some of whom clapped him on the back or spoke words of praise, and came face to face with his mother. She was beautiful, and her beauty would prove to be timeless. He had nearly forgotten what she looked like. For a moment, every emotion he'd hidden deep inside himself since he landed welled up to the surface, threatening to spill over in the form of tears blurring his vision. He quickly righted himself and smiled, bowing deeply.

"Er, Ol-Olivia? My name is Inigo. May I have a moment?"

She blinked a few times, her cheeks flushing pink.

"W-what? With me? Why? And... how did you know my name?"

Inigo took a deep breath, willing away the tremor in his voice.

"A little bird tweeted it out. So is that a yes?"

"Um... All right, I guess..."

Inigo combed a hand through his hair, averting his gaze as he felt her observing him carefully.

"...Er, yes. You see... What I mean to say is," he trailed off, pausing to gather his bearings, "Goodness, this is much harder than chatting up other girls I've met. I suppose it would be quickest to just show you this..."

From beneath the collar of his shirt, he produced a necklace. Around the chain were two silver rings, both with glimmering opals set between two colored stones: lapis for Olivia and ruby for Henry.  
Olivia's eyes grew wide, her disbelieving gaze flicking from the rings to Inigo's face.  
"M-my ring? Our rings? But... I'm wearing it! How did you...?"

"Indeed," said Inigo, smiling once more, "How do I have your ring when there is only one in all the world? Unless it IS your ring and I brought it back from the future!"

"What?" Olivia murmured, again searching Inigo's face, "You mean like Lucina...?"

Again, Inigo faltered.

"Y-you know Lucina? Is she here?"

"Yes," Olivia replied, still looking rather puzzled, "she's been here for about two years, according to Chrom."

"Two years," Inigo murmured, furrowing his brow. He'd landed roughly two years ago. So that meant...

"Er, yes, exactly like Lucina," he replied, willing the bitterness out of his voice. "I knew my mother was a dancer, you see. I... I had forgotten exactly what she looked like, so I've been scouring the land looking for all the dancers I could find. Not the worst job in the world, mind you," he jested with a chuckle. "I've been living in this village when I haven't been searching for you for about two years now. And I've finally found you, Mother! And now my dancing will be all the better for it!"

"Oh!" Olivia exclaimed, clapping her hands together in that familiar way and sending a pang through Inigo's heart, "You dance?"

"W-well... sort of. Some people aren't fond of male dancers, you see. I'd never dance for the public."

"Oh, nonsense," Olivia said with a warm smile, "don't listen to them. I think it's wonderful. I'd love to see you dance one day."

"You would?" Inigo's face lit up, drawing his lips into a bright smile. Olivia laughed a soft, tinkling laugh. It was beautiful.

"Of course," she replied, her gaze going soft. "Now I know you must be my son. You have my eyes and Henry's smile..."

"Is he here?" Inigo blurted. "My— my father, I mean."

"Ah, he's here somewhere... You'll meet him soon. Er," she paused, worrying at her lip with her teeth, "you _are_ coming with us, right?"

Inigo spared one last glance back to the maiden, then nodded. "Yes, of course."

Chrom, who had heard the tail-end of their conversation, gave Inigo a hearty pat on the back that nearly sent him sprawling onto the ground.

"Glad you're joining us, Inigo."

•x•x•

"Henry?" Olivia called, poking her head through the flaps of the tent she shared with her husband.

The man picked his head up, his smile brighting as he caught sight of Olivia. "Heyo, 'livia!" the mage greeted, "What's up?" He rose from his seat, making his way over to Olivia and cupping her face in his hands, bumping their noses together. She giggled, resting their foreheads together briefly. As they parted, she smiled, hands resting on his hips to gently push him back to his seat.

"Um... How should I put this... You know Lucina's story, right?"

Henry nodded, tilting his head to the side as he sat back down.  
"Crazy time travel hijinks, right? Chrom's scary daughter from the future? What about her?"

Olivia wrung her hands, glancing back to the tent flaps. Inigo stood just outside of them, looking just as nervous as Olivia felt.

"W-well... We, um... have a son."

Henry's eyes widened at this, opening his mouth undoubtably to ask embarrassing questions, and Olivia scrambled to elaborate. "N-not _now_! He's from the future, like Lucina. They — they came here together with a group of children and got separated on the way."

Inigo took a deep breath and pulled the flap away to reveal himself to his father. Again, he was blown away by how young Henry looked. He'd forgotten his face, too. His chest burned as the dark mage stood, observing Inigo with a carefully calculating gaze.

"I have a son, huh?" he finally remarked, breaking the silence, "Who would have thought!" He snickered, then moved to sling an arm around Inigo's shoulders. Inigo immediately threw his arms around Henry's neck, startling him. "Father," he murmured, squeezing him tight and pressing his face into the crook of his father's neck. Henry's smile faltered as his hands hovered above his son's back. He threw a questioning glance to Olivia, who mouthed Inigo's name.

"Yeah... Inigo..? Can ya... can you not crush my ribs? Not yet, at least."

Inigo inhaled shakily and released Henry from his grip, smiling sheepishly.  
"Er, sorry, Father. For your ribs, and for not giving you ample time to comprehend this... news. You m-must have so many questions." His voice began to break, so he thought it best to stop talking before he completely lost his composure.

Henry happily ruffled Inigo's hair as Olivia came to lean her head against Henry's shoulder, smiling at Inigo.  
"No problemo. Nothing really unnerves me anymore! But," he trailed off, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow, though his lips were still curled in a soft smile, "are you okay?"

Inigo jerked back, startled, as he felt a hand cup his jaw. Olivia used her thumb to gently wipe away a tear on his cheek.  
"Oh," he said lamely, blinking away the wetness in his eyes as best he could.

"Here," said Henry, offering the corner of his cloak after failing to find anything else to dry Inigo's tears with.

Inigo sniffed and shook his head, swiping the back of his hand over his cheeks. He laughed weakly, though it sounded more like a sob. This caused Olivia's frown to deepen and Henry's smile to falter.

"You... you did that for me all the time when I was little," he explained with a weak smile.

"Huh? Gave you my cloak? Are there no handkerchiefs in the future?" Henry asked, eyes wide.

Inigo laughed softly, covering his mouth and turning his face away as his laughter transformed into quiet sobs. He forced himself to regain control, swallowing thickly.  
"Oh, n-no, no. I just... I think it comforted me. I... I always l-loved your cloaks. Well... not _your_ cloaks. His cloaks. Ah," he trailed off, inhaling shakily and rubbing his eyes.

"My apologies. I'll be— I'll just—" he stuttered out, turning and beginning to make his way out of the tent. He managed to knock into a table in his haste, scrambling to right the books and knick-knacks that clattered down and slid across its surface. Face burning, he slipped out of the tent, leaving Olivia and Henry staring after him, mystified. Olivia, her hand still outstretched, frowned to herself, shooting a worried glance at Henry. Henry met her gaze with a troubled look of his own.

"Huh. Are all kids like this when they get that age?"

"Henry!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in the summary were stuck in my head for forever, so I listened to the song while writing this. They actually kinda fit with the chapter. Anywho, enjoy!! More coming soon, loves! Feedback and questions are always welcome <3


	11. XX -XXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!! I deleted the information filler chapter I posted after my hiatus, so be sure to catch up on any chapter you may have missed due to all the chapter numbers shifting down!! Enjoy <3

**XX**

Inigo glanced up as Owain's plate clattered onto the table next to his own. The wooden bench bounced and groaned as the myrmidon enthusiastically plopped himself right beside his old friend and immediately began digging into his food. "A meal fit for a king! What such celebration does this delightful meal commemorate?"

"Please," Inigo began, scowling, "don't speak while you're eating."  
Owain rolled his eyes and finished his mouthful, opening his mouth to speak once more when Severa slammed her bowl down across the table. The sheer force shook the entire surface and caused some of Inigo's stew to escape his bowl. Owain and Inigo exchanged a glance, which was not missed by Severa's keen eye.   
"Oh, shut up," she grumbled, dropping her spoon into her bowl of stew and letting her chin fall into the palm of her hand. Inigo eyed her elbow with distaste as it rested on the table; his mother always taught him not to eat with his arms on the table, lest he look like a starving barbarian. However, he knew better to comment on Severa's manners at the moment. As the sword-wielder idly poked at her stew with the spoon, Owain cleared his throat.

"As I was saying— ow!"

Owain grimaced, a hand flying to his injured ribs as he glared at his best friend's elbow, the source of his pain. Inigo shook his head as he shot his friend a warning glance.

"Ah, Severa? Might I ask what's wrong?" asked Inigo, cutting a slice of potato in two with his spoon.

"Nothing," she replied, short and clipped, "nothing at all."

"We all know that's not true. We're your closest friends. You know you can confide in us, yes?"

Severa furrowed her brow as she continued to stare into her bowl. Finally, she released her spoon and scrubbed her hands over her face.  
"It's Mom. Well, not Mom. This Cordelia. She's still fawning over Chrom. Unbelievable!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest with an irritated huff.

Owain tilted his head. "Ah... wasn't she always like that?"

Severa sighed, finally meeting her friends' gazes. "Well, yeah, but now it's different. If she keeps up this obsession with Chrom, Dad might get fed up. And if that happens, he might leave her. And if _that_ happens, I won't be born... and it's all her fault! She even knows that I'm her daughter, but does she care? No! Of course not!"

"Well... you've yet to disintegrate into oblivion. Isn't that proof enough that you'll be born in this timeline?" Owain supplied, attempting and failing to be comforting.   
"No. The timeline we came from wasn't altered by our own time travel, remember? This one is. We've already changed so much. There's no telling if any of us will actually be born. Except Lucina," she finished with a grumble, staring at her soup once more.

"What? She's already been born? But Chrom is so young," Inigo replied, brow furrowed.

"I know," came Severa's bitter reply, "and that still hasn't stopped my mother from chasing after him."

Owain reached a hand across the table, laying it over Severa's. The sword user glanced up, a seething mixture of both confusion and irritation in her eyes, softening only slightly when she met her best friend's gaze.

"Fate has a plan," he said resolutely, a stunningly serious look in his eyes. "You're a chosen one, after all. Destined to go on glorious adventures reserved only for those of chosen blood! Doesn't your soul ache for them?" Usual theatrics resumed once more, Owain stood with a flourish, drawing the attention of a few other army members. "Does your hand tremble for a blazing blade? Or do your legs pull you toward a path of radiance?" Owain slammed his hands down on the surface of the table, sending more of Inigo's stew flying onto its surface. The dancer's hands flew to steady the teetering bowl, wide eyes glancing to meet his friend's.

"Owain," he hissed, watching in dismay as more heads turned in their direction, "do _not_ make a scene!"

Ignoring Inigo's warning, Owain went on. "Your eyes envision a radiant dawn!" With a grin, his hand flew to his face, obscuring it in his signature pose.  
"I hear the melody your heart hums! It sings of conquests and fate! Darkness and light! Great adventure is your birthright!" His hand slid to his chest, as if clutching at his own heart. "Oh, how mine aches, as well! It plays over and over the echoes of the past! The gods have chosen us! How could they erase us from this timeline? We are not simply pawns of some scripted fate! We write our own stories!" His hand then drifted to his stomach, clutching it in the same way. "My gut hungers for the radiant path to destiny the gods have paved for us." Swift as lightning, Owain grabbed Severa's spoon, scooped a heaping spoonful of stew and potatoes out of her bowl, and shoved it into his mouth. "Or maybe it hungers for simple, starchy sustenance."

"Hey!" Severa growled, snatching the now-empty spoon from Owain's hand. Inigo, glaring daggers at his best friend, grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him down, forcing him to sit once more. Owain simply looked pleased with himself, smacking his lips in a rather annoying fashion.

"How did we become friends again? That fact always alludes me," Inigo said dryly, lifting up his bowl just as Severa's head hit the surface.

"Don't get him started—"

"A marvelous tale indeed! Let me start from the beginning..."

•x•x•

Inigo was mid pirouette when he caught movement across the creek out of the corner of his eye. He came to a stop on steady feet, knees bent and body poised to fight as his keen eyes scanned the forest around him. His dagger in his hand, he inched closer to the edge of the clearing until a growl behind him elicited a terrified yelp from his throat. Whipping around, he came face to face with the familiar, scarred face of Gerome's old wyvern, Minerva. She snorted and huffed, her snakelike eyes trained on the dagger clutched so tightly in his raised hand that his knuckles were bleached white. He slowly lowered his hand, so as not to startle her, and gradually raised his other hand, palm open toward her snout. "Why, hello, Minerva. What are you doing out here alone?"

"She's not alone."

Gerome's gruff voice startled Inigo once more, who took a step back to look for the masked man. He stepped out from behind the beast, his hand trailing along the tough scales of her flank.

"Good evening, Gerome," Inigo greeted with an easy smile, turning his attention back to Minerva. "Going for a night stroll?"

"You're in our spot."

"Pardon?"

"Leave. You're in Minerva's grooming area."

"Grooming area?" Inigo repeated incredulously. "You can't be serious."

"I take her grooming very seriously. A groomed wyvern is a happy, healthy wyvern," he replied gruffly, removing Minerva's saddle and reins.

"What is there to groom? Her hide is merely scales."

"Listen," Gerome breathed out in a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose as if Inigo had been pestering him for hours. The mercenary's brows shot toward his hairline as he crossed his arms, cocking his hip and shifting his weight.

"Do tell," Inigo said flatly, tapping his foot.

Gerome spared him an unreadable gaze, then continued. "We need you to leave. Now."

"We? I'm positive Minerva doesn't mind my presence." In an act of defiance, he continued, staring the other man down. "And if I don't?"

Gerome leveled him with that same unreadable gaze, and, before Inigo could react, Gerome had lunged forward, disarmed Inigo, and pinned him to a nearby tree so hard, his breath was forced from his lungs in a single whoosh of air.

"Never let your guard down. Maybe if you hadn't, you wouldn't have been so startled by our presence in the first place. It shouldn't have been so easy to take you out. We're at war. Remember that."

As soon as Gerome began to loosen his grip, Inigo snatched his wrists and spun them around elegantly, reversing their previous situation and forcing the other's back against the tree with a strong shove. Still panting as he regained his lost breath, he dropped Gerome's wrists, looming over him with a smirk.

"Pot. Kettle. Black," he murmured, his gaze lingering on Gerome's features for a moment too long. The other seemed to notice this, coughing and righting his crooked mask.

Inigo slowly backed away, bending to retrieve his dagger from the grass, and spun on his heel. "Goodbye, Gerome. Be good to Minerva."

Gerome, left bewildered and leaning against the tree trunk, watched the dancer go as his hands slid from his mask.

  
**XXI**

Inigo ducked his head, his cheeks burning red as he finished his mother's dance. "I— was it— um, she never—" he stuttered out, drawing in on himself. Olivia stood, padding over to him and placing her hands gently on his upper arms. "Inigo, that was beautiful. Though... I don't remember that last part. Was your mother's dance different than mine?"

"Uh," Inigo began, pursing his lips, "she, ah, never actually had the... chance. To teach me the ending, I mean. I made my own, so..."

"I love it."

"What?"

Olivia smiled, her brown eyes twinkling. Inigo was taken by her beauty and idly wondered if he'd inherited any of it.  
"It's amazing! You choreographed it yourself?"

Inigo nodded, grinning bashfully.

"It's so... so skillful! Oh, Inigo, I'm sure she'd be proud. _I'm_  proud. You know," she continued, "I think your ending is much better than mine. It's very... you. Special in its own way. It's a story begun by your mother and finished by you in her memory. How gorgeous..."

Inigo blinked away the burning tears beginning to emerge in his eyes.  
"Oh, Mother... Thank— thank you. Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you."

•x•x•

"Not quite. Try placing your foot here so your weight is evenly distributed," Olivia coached, standing across from her husband and son as she mirrored their movements.

"Is my foot supposed to bend this way?" Henry asked, head cocked as he observed the odd angle at which he had bent his ankle.

"Er," Inigo began, wincing, "possibly?"  
"He's fine, dear. He's always been flexible, you know," Olivia answered, giggling as Henry responded with a wink.

"You betcha!" the mage chimed in, cackling at his son's mortified expression. He grinned at his wife, who playfully blew him a kiss.

"Not to change the subject, but do you think he's ready for the fans?" Inigo piped up, anxious to cease speaking about his parents' antics.

"The fans? Ooh, I have admirers?"

Olivia laughed her soft, tinkling laugh. "No, Sweetheart. Not yet. This kind of fan," she said as she pulled what appeared to be a thin wooden stick from her metal belt. With a sharp flick of her wrist, the wooden stick opened into an elaborately designed silk fan, which she fluttered over the lower half of her face. Inigo pulled another fan from an identical belt —his mother's old belt— around his waist. He mimicked Olivia and opened the fan to obscure his face from the nose down. Henry watched them, eyes wide in awe.

"Ooh, mysterious... Gimme one! I'm ready!" Henry chirruped eagerly, making grabby hands in Olivia's direction. The dancer, shaking her head fondly, pulled another fan from her belt and handed it to her husband, who promptly threw it to the ground as he attempted to flick it open like his wife and son had done.

The mage, after retrieving his fan a few more times, finally flicked the fan open in one smooth movement, cackling gleefully as he did so. The crows around him, ever present as they trailed behind him like shadows, began to caw in a manner eerily similar to his laugh. Inigo smiled at the rather large flock of ebony birds. He'd often played with them when he was small, so they were a welcome sight.

"Where'd you get these fans, anyway, 'livia? I've never seen anything like 'em around here," Henry asked after observing the fan during a pause in his dance lesson.

"Um, I found them at a market a while back. The vender told me they were from... oh, what was it..? Ah! Bushido? Somewhere far away."

"You mean Hoshido?" Inigo queried, "Isn't that from a storybook? What was it... A kingdom of light always at war with a kingdom of darkness?"

"I... I don't recall," Olivia replied, her brow furrowed. "Nonetheless, these fans are beautiful. It makes me wonder if a kingdom like that truly exists."

Turning to Henry, she arced her arms above her head, waiting for the mage to mirror her movements.   
"Ready to continue?" she asked, watching the white haired man expectantly.

"Ready? I was born ready! Heck, I'll probably die ready! Ooh, when will that be?"


	12. XXI - XXII

**XXI**

  
Despite having a father native to Plegia, Inigo was in no way acclimated to the sandy terrain. Not only was it hard to move efficiently in, but it filled his boots and clung to every other article of clothing he owned. Wonderful. He found himself sinking into the grainy material many a time on the battlefield, missing an opportunity to take down an enemy soldier and instead finding himself flat on his face with a mouth full of sand. This was one such instance. Inigo, having tripped with the grace of a drunkard after his foot sunk into the sand, struggled to get himself back on his feet. The sun beat down on his face, reflected off of the bright surface provided by the sand.

"Bye now!" Henry cried from a few yards away as he fired a spell, sending another Plegian mage flying backwards into the sand. His cape billowed out behind him as the wind began to pick up, sending stinging grains hurtling painfully towards exposed skin. He'd often wondered why his father wore so many layers in such a warm area, but he understood after having his face and upper arms battered by the tiny particles. Henry moved easily across the sand, and probably could have easily been mistaken for a dancer by anyone that hadn't seen him move on more stable land.

"Henry! Watch out!" Olivia called from somewhere behind Inigo, drawing her husband's attention for a brief moment.  
Dread filled Inigo's body, chilling his heart. Every battle put him on edge, as he had no idea if it would be the last for his parents. The sun glinted off of his mother's blade as she sprinted towards her husband, seemingly running just above the surface of the sand. Inigo was forced to look away as the rustling of dry grass alerted him to an approaching enemy. A Plegian swordsman thrust his blade towards Inigo, who managed to leap just out of its way. It nicked the side of his tunic as the sand hindered his movements. He then unsheathed his own sword, charging forward. Locking blades, he swung his sword in a downward arc, forcing the other soldier to release his own sword. Having disarmed him, Inigo swiped at his legs, kicking into his chest as he scrambled to leap away. Mentally, he made a note to practice fighting on sandy terrain. His parents moved so easily; he may have to dance on it before attempting to battle on it.   
He then turned his attention back to his parents. Olivia had been disarmed, her sword now in the hand of the enemy. Henry was by her side, firing spells that seemed to be only for the purpose of distracting the soldier enough for Olivia to reclaim her sword. The soldier had worked this out in the matter of seconds that Inigo had been watching. In one swift movement, the soldier lunged forward, a gasp ripping itself from Inigo's chest as he saw his father lurch back, a crimson rose blooming on his chest and staining his sweater.   
Before he could come to his aid, he felt a kick to the back of his knees, sending him sprawling to the ground. He barely had time to react before a blunt force to the back of his head sent the stars raining down from the sky.

•x•x•

The first thing Inigo saw when he awoke was a pair of wide, concerned blue eyes. He blinked away the blurriness obscuring his vision, but it didn't seem to fade.   
"Oh! He's awake!" A voice too loud for Inigo's liking announced. He groaned and slung an arm over his eyes, rolling onto his side.  
"Inigo? Are you with us?" A much softer voice asked. Inigo was much more inclined to answer to this voice.  
"D-depends on what you mean by 'with us'," he replied, stunning himself with the steadiness of his voice, though it did sound a little worse for the wear.   
"He's alright. Praise Naga," said the latter voice. Ah, Libra. Inigo groaned once more as the pounding soreness in the back of his head seemed to catch up with him. As he focused (or attempted to), he began to feel a slight pressure surrounding his head. Bandages?  
"Ngh," he said intelligently. He meant to ask where he was, but his mouth seemed to have different intentions than his brain.  
Just before he drifted back to peaceful sleep, he heard a tent flap open and two sets of feet (or maybe a horse) rush into the room.  
"Inigo? Inigo!" came the cry of a new voice.  
'Mother,' his brain supplied kindly. "Moth—er..?"  
It suddenly came rushing back. The memories hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He was attacked. So was his father. Father.  
"Father!" Inigo cried, now very much awake. He struggled to lift himself on unsteady arms, unseeing eyes still blinking blearily. Then, there was a pressure on his chest pushing him back down. Unable to fight it, he allowed himself to be laid back down.  
"Kiddo?" came a fourth and final voice. "Hey, hey, I'm here. You're here. We're all good," the voice sighed out, sounding as if it had finally found the oasis in a drought-stricken desert. Inigo forced his heavy eyelids open and the narrow face of his father came into view. He couldn't recall when he began to cry, but hot, fat tears rolled down his cheeks. In that moment, he was a little boy again, barely able to walk. All over again, he had fallen and scraped his knee, and his father was there to scoop him up.   
"Father," he hiccuped pathetically, his vision gradually clearing. His father's lips trembled every so slightly even as they were pulled into a smile. "Oh, Gods," Henry murmured, even though he never was a religious man. Gentle arms encircled him, pulling him to a small, bony chest. His father's breath hitched.  
"You scared your ol' Pops. I thought you— I thought you were a goner," Henry murmured, pulling away just enough to scan his son's face.  
"M-me? What about— there was blood, and— and you were— you jerked back, oh, Gods, I thought—" Inigo stammered, flinching away as the fingers combing through his hair took him by surprise. His mother's kind brown eyes calmed him, as did her fingers as they ran across his scalp. Henry drew Inigo to his chest once more. He'd always wondered why nearly everyone in the army kept their distance from his father, as he was always a kind soul, in Inigo's experience. Even if this Henry wasn't truly his father.  
"Hey, don't cry anymore, okay? I'm okay. It was just a little surface wound. You're okay. Your mom's okay, too. We're all here together, right?"  
Inigo nodded weakly, averting his eyes as his father pulled away.   
"Did... did your dad— your real one— die in battle like that?" he asked softly.   
Inigo remained silent as he nodded once more.  
"You— I-I mean, /he/ was killed wh-when he created a... a diversion for the rest of the army to retaliate. They were cornered." Inigo took a shaky breath. "They brought his body back," he explained, eyes still downcast.  
"Oh, Inigo," his mother whispered, eyes shining.  
"Hey, you don't have to say any more. Rest up, okay?" said his father, finally releasing him. Inigo immediately missed the familiar pressure.   
"We'll stay with you. Get more rest and heal," Olivia murmured.  
Inigo carefully laid himself back down, allowing his parents to fuss over him as sleep overcame him once more.

•x•x•

It was over. It was really over. Inigo dropped to his knees, his sword clattering beside him as he caught his breath. Grima was slain, and the world was saved. Well, /this/ world was. His world was beyond repair. He glanced around the barren area they'd been dumped in after Grima's fall, taking in the reactions of the rest of the army. Libra flitted about amongst the injured, looking exhausted but elated as tended to Lon'qu's bloody nose. Lissa was also making her rounds with the help of Gaius, who limped along behind her.

Many other Shepherds were clutching onto the nearest person, laughing with relief and delight. Sully had Kellam in an affectionate headlock, while Lucina joined Severa on the ground where she knelt.  
Olivia and Henry were sitting on the bare dirt a few yards away, foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath. Olivia laughed as she poked Henry's chest through a hole in his sweater formed from a deflected fire spell.

A few members were also in tears, including Owain. He clung to Noire a little ways away, both sobbing.   
Inigo continued to scan the crowd, faltering and furrowing his brow as he caught sight of the hunched figure of Chrom, his shoulders just barely quaking as he knelt in the place where Robin last stood. They weren't so lucky, it seemed. Upon closer inspection, Inigo noticed that Chrom clutched Robin's cloak in his hands, holding it tightly.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts, then spun him around into a pair of familiar arms. Owain, still sobbing, pulled Inigo to his chest, squeezing him tightly. Startled, Inigo had flailed for just a moment before relaxing into the rather snug embrace, twisting and wrapping his arms around his trembling friend.

"Hey," he murmured into Owain's hair. "It's alright. We're alright. We won, yes? It's over."

Inigo reasoned that Owain must have been terrified during battle. His pride and resolve wouldn't have let him show it, however. Inigo was more than happy to allow his friend to vent his emotions.  
He patted Owain's back until his quaking ceased, and his whimpers subsided. As Inigo rocked him, Owain took a shaky breath, hands fisted into the torn and bloodied fabric of Inigo's tunic. Inigo chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip, running his hands up and down his friend's back as his gaze drifted back to Chrom. Squeezing his eyes shut, he held his friend a bit tighter. Somehow, he felt... guilty for doing so. For being /able/ to do so. He'd traveled through time and space and still had his best friends by his side, while it only took one battle for Chrom's world to come crashing down around him.

Owain pulled away, sniffling as he wiped tears and snot from his reddened face. Inigo grimaced.

"We did it. We actually did it," Owain whispered reverently, his usual bravado gone. "Wh-what happens now? We did what we came to do. Now... now what?"

Inigo paused as he turned that thought over in his mind. Surely they couldn't stay; their parents and the rest of the Shepherds had to move on with their lives without having to worry about the grown children of their alternate selves romping about in the world while they had young children of their own to deal with. Children who were also the grown children they had already met. How odd. They also couldn't return to their own world, however, because there was nothing to return to. He couldn't tell Owain this; not now. Instead, he offered a weak smile, hands squeezing his friend's shoulders. "We'll figure something out. We always seem to do so."

Owain pressed his lips into a thin line, then nodded, returning the smile.

On Chrom's orders, the Shepherds picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and prepared for their trek back to Ylisstol.  
  
**XXII**

Inigo carefully cradled the baby in his arms, glancing to his mother, who cooed softly as she stroked the child's head.

"I must admit," Inigo began, grinning, "I was an adorable baby."

Olivia laughed softly, taking the baby back from Inigo as he began to whine. She bounced him in her arms, hushing him, before laying him in his cradle. Inigo watched from afar, his lips pressed into a thin line. He'd visited his parents for the first time since his present self had been born, and it only reinforced the fact that his time in Ylisse was drawing to a close. It would be too strange to have two children who were essentially the same person in one place. He couldn't burden his parents like that, so he'd made a decision: This visit would be his last, whereafter he'd travel the world with Severa and Owain. He hadn't told either of his parents, for he knew they would persuade him to stay. He just... couldn't. He knew he couldn't.

"It's getting late, Mother," he began, willing his voice to remain steady. His mother turned, inclining her head.

"Are you staying for the night?" she asked, smiling as she approached her grown son. Inigo shook his head, his throat tightening. He didn't trust his voice, so he refrained from speaking.

"We have a spare room, you know. And little Inigo isn't fussy, so he won't keep you up at night," Olivia continued, still smiling warmly. Inigo dug his nails painfully into his palms, forcing a smile in return.

"That's quite alright, Mother. I really should get going. I'm..." He paused, trailing off. "I'm leaving early in the morning with Owain and Severa. I—I really should be going."

Olivia sighed, but nodded knowingly. She took a step forward and tucked a lock of hair behind Inigo's ear, cupping his face in her hands.

"Your hair is getting longer," she remarked with a fond smile. "I don't know how you can possibly see."

Inigo closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I manage," he replied, his voice just above a whisper.

"You'll visit again soon, right? You know how your father and I love to see you."

"You have me right here," Inigo continued, nodding towards the baby in the crib. He tried not to sound bitter, but apparently failed. Olivia frowned, running her thumbs over the crests of his cheekbones.

"I mean _you._  The Inigo in front of me. You and the baby may be the same person in essence, but your souls are different. You're different to /me/. Baby Inigo will never replace you, if that's what you're afraid of, Love."

Inigo remained silent, averting his gaze as Olivia sighed once more, her hands drifting to his shoulders.

"I love you, and I always will. So will your father. Speaking of your father," Olivia began, "If you are leaving tomorrow, let him know. He'd like to see you off, too. Even though I'm sure you won't be gone for long. Where are you going, if I may ask?"

Inigo panicked; they hadn't formulated a definite plan yet, but they definitely aimed to leave the Halidom.

"Ah... erm... We, ah... Owain knows. He has a plan," Inigo stammered, ignoring the pang in his heart from having to lie to his mother. Olivia chewed thoughtfully on her lip, and Inigo was afraid she'd seen right through him. She pulled him into a gentle embrace, tucking her chin over his shoulder.

"Well, wherever you go, be safe. I love you, my Inigo."

"I love you, too, mother." Inigo's voice broke pitifully. Pulling away, his mother gave him a look he couldn't quite read, then smiled, standing on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to the top of his head.

"Off you go. Don't forget to tell your father, okay? He should be on the balcony," Olivia advised, then paused, apparently remembering something. "Oh! Hold on just a minute! I've been making something for you. I was going to wait for your birthday, but now I'm not sure when you'll be back..."

Inigo ignored the sting her words delivered, instead following his mother as she scurried back into the bedroom, sorting through a woven basket of cloth. She smiled triumphantly as she carefully gathered a pile of silky looking cloth into her arms, pursing her lips as she stood and presented the cloth to her son. Puzzled, he cocked his head, grasping the slippery material on the top of the pile and unfolding it. It appeared to be a... vest?

The collar was wide, much like the one on his father's cloak, and colored a beautiful gold. The seams around the holes for his arms were also gold, and shimmered in the light. The rest of the vest was white silk, decorated with ornate golden designs that also reminded Inigo of those on his father's cloak. The vest, just long enough to reach the bottom of Inigo's ribcage, could be fastened with a golden clasp made of delicate metal loops. A skin-tight black shirt of the same length was layered under the vest.

Eyes wide, Inigo took the next piece from his mother. Black tights to match the cropped shirt were accented with sheer white cloth, as light as a feather. The white cloth was loose and flowing, attached to the leggings at the hips and running down the outside of the leg to wrap around the ankles, leaving the innermost sides of the leggings exposed. Golden cuffs would clip around the ankles, holding the fabric in place. A belt of thick indigo ribbons accented with gold hung around the waist of the pants, the bottoms of the longest ribbons hanging below the knees of the leggings. Inigo glanced behind Olivia to find a golden metal belt that would hold the ribbons in place, sitting at the hips and accenting the figure.

Black slippers along with black sleeves were the last articles in the pile, along with golden cuffs for the wrists and the upper arm to hold the sleeves in place.

"It's a dancer's outfit. Your father and I made it together," Olivia explained softly, her gaze averted. "Do... do you like it?"

Inigo placed the clothing on the nearest surface and scooped his mother into his arms, lifting her from the floor. She let out a surprised, "Oh!"

"I love it, mother... Oh, Gods, it's beautiful... It's... it's what I've always wanted," Inigo murmured, setting his mother on the floor gently. Her smile was blinding.

"Take it with you. Then we'll always be with you."

Inigo nodded, biting his lip around a trembling smile.

"Now go see your father," Olivia continued softly, blinking away her own tears. Inigo nodded again, murmuring a quick, "I love you," before gathering up his clothing and moving to seek out his father.

•x•x•

"What a good little harbringer of death! Yes you are!"

Inigo cleared his throat, smiling wryly as his father ceased his cooing at one of his crows, instead turning to face his son.

"Hey-o, kiddo! What's crackin'? Not your bones, I hope!" Henry cackled gleefully, his crow echoing him. Violet eyes then locked onto the clothing in his arms. "Oh! I see your mother gave you your gift early. Just couldn't wait, huh? Do you like my designs? They were my idea. All of 'em. Well, not all of them, because your mom's kind of a genius when it comes to—"

"Actually, father," Inigo cut in, smile fading. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Muh? My designs? Aw, shucks, if you don't like them, you can just tell me, yeah? I can—"

"No, no," Inigo cut in once more, "about why she gave these to me so early."

Henry said nothing, though he looked slightly relieved.

"I'm leaving," Inigo blurted, eyes wide at his own confession.

Henry cocked his head to the side, but remained silent. Inigo swallowed thickly and continued.

"I'm leaving with Owain and Severa tomorrow. We're just... we're going somewhere. I don't know where we're going, but we can't— we can't stay here. Oh, Gods..."

Inigo wasn't sure what possessed him to pour his heart out to his father, but he did, and now he was fairly certain he was crying. Henry rose and approached his son, cupping his face in his hands. Intelligent eyes roamed over his face.

"I think I kinda guessed you'd be leaving soon." His father's voice was quiet, but kind. "I can't blame you, and it would be pretty /caw/some if you stayed," Henry jested, grinning, then continued, "but I can't change your mind for you. Just let your mom and I know where you're going, yeah?" Henry's bright grin was back. The crow he had previously been speaking to let out a purr, nipping at the mage's hand. Henry ushered the bird onto his shoulder, where it settled.

Inigo shifted from foot to foot, then nodded, biting his lip. "Alright," he conceded. "Just... don't try to find me."

Henry's smile faltered for a split second. Inigo only caught it because the man was his father, and he knew him better than the back of his own hand.

"Right-o, kiddo. It's a deal. Let's shake on it!"

The mage had grabbed his son's hand in a death grip with his slender hands before the dancer could protest. Upon releasing his hand, he cackled, looking rather smug. Inigo eyed him warily.

"Erm..."

"You never said I couldn't check up on you with a tome! I'm sure I have one of those map tomes around here... I won't be breaking our deal, because I won't be _finding_ you, per se... I'll just already know where you are!"

Inigo ignored the fact that his father possessed tomes that could track a person's location, and instead huffed indignantly.

"What?" Henry asked innocently, eyes wide. "I can't keep tabs on my own son?"

Inigo sighed. "Forget it. I suppose I didn't specify the definition of finding me. You win."

Henry seemed to soften at this. "I just care about you, y'know? You've kinda grown on me. Like a parasite. But, you're not like a parasite. You're more like a cool birthmark. That's a good thing to have growing on you!"

The dancer shook his head fondly at his father's antics, instead pulling him into an embrace. Henry sighed contentedly, then straightened his son's tunic as he pulled away.

"Be safe, yeah? Don't worry your ol' pops. But," he continued, grin widening, "it would be nice to have an excuse to obliterate someone."

"I'll keep that in mind, father," Inigo laughed out. He then squirmed as Henry cupped his face and pressed a smacking kiss to his forehead.

"Go off and do good things! We'll be here!"

Clutching his gift in his arms, Inigo nodded and hurried from the balcony after one last glance over his shoulder. It was only when he left the building that he let himself sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!! To all of you who have stuck with me through all these irregular updates, I love you all so much. School has been kicking my butt, and I've been working on this chapter in my free time for months YIKES. But now it's done and I have a lot of the next chapter written, too!! I apologize for the huge hiatus, and I hope it doesn't happen again, but I won't make any promises. Again thank you all for reading!!  
> Next up: A journey, and Inigo questions his sexuality (a few times)


	13. XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey, and closure.

Inigo ran, feet pounding and breath puffing from his lips in great clouds of white, into the brisk night, Owain scrambling after him. Severa, with her long legs and graceful strides, was already several yards ahead of him.

"Where—," panted Owain as he caught up to Inigo, "wh-where are we now—?"   
A wheezing breath, then, "Are we close?"

He was referring to the meeting place indicated on the map the trio had received from a rather interesting being. A figure in a white cloak had called to them from the walls of Castle Ylisstol, just as they were packing for their journey out of Ylisse. Inigo supposed this opportunity came at the right time; they really had no concrete plan other than to leave Ylisse's borders. Now they may have a new purpose.

The man had pleaded with them to save his kingdom, promising to explain once they met him at the marked location on the night of the next full moon. Inigo   
was unnerved, frankly, while Owain had babbled excitedly in his groggy state about fate, and destiny, and all-powerful beings, insisting they aid the man in his plight. Severa had her reservations, as well, but ultimately sided with Owain, as "they had nothing left to lose". Inigo supposed she was at least partially correct. 

The forest indicated on the map was rather dense and dark. Lush underbrush and fallen logs dotted with mushrooms and crumbling with rot threatened to down Inigo at every step. He would stop if he heard silence behind him, as something was wrong if Owain had ceased his hissed cursing and noisy stumbling over dried leaves and crackling twigs. The map itself appeared ancient, or, at the very least, worse for the wear. It was rather simply drawn, as if someone had a very brief aerial view of the area before having to sketch it from memory. It was detailed enough that the features were unmistakable, however. They appeared to be heading in the right direction. He hoped.

The wind was knocked from Inigo's chest in one sharp huff of air as he collided with Severa's back, sputtering as he received a mouth full of moss green hair in return. Just as he had separated himself from Severa, Owain smacked into him with a muted "oof!", pushing him back into the taller woman. She let out an irritated growl and shoved the men backwards, sending Inigo stumbling backwards into his best friend's arms. As the dancer scrambled to find his footing, he found himself stepping on Owain's own feet, causing the other to yelp and jerk backwards. 

"Owain!" Inigo gasped, at the same time said man wrapped his arms around Inigo's waist like a stubborn octopus and pulled them crashing to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs.

"I hate you both," Severa muttered, making no effort to help her best friends untangle themselves. "We're here, by the way. In case you didn't guess when I, y'know, stopped and announced that we were here. But no one ever listens to me."

Inigo groaned, pushing himself away from Owain as he rolled into a sitting position. He was exhausted, his head ached, and, thanks to Owain, so did his ass. Wonderful. Truthfully, he had no more desire to meet this strange cloaked man than he did to waltz with a risen. Though he was intrigued initially, was it worth a splitting migraine and a fractured coccyx? The man may wish to murder them, for all they know.

"I assure you, I wish no harm upon any of you."

Oh. Inigo's eyes widened as he whipped around, searching for the source of that familiar voice. Severa and Owain seemed just as puzzled, though their eyes widened fractionally just as Inigo felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning slowly, a hand made its way into his field of view. Following it to its owner, he felt his cheeks flush in mild shame as he met the sharp golden gaze of the cloaked man. 

"Here," said the man, his voice smooth and soft, but strangely resonating power. "Take my hand."

Inigo grasped the hand offered to him, allowing him to haul him to his feet.

"I-I didn't mean— I was just—" 

"It's alright. I understand," chuckled the man as he helped Owain to his feet, steadying him as he stumbled. His eyes were now obscured by the hood of his tattered white cloak, his startlingly azure hair falling softly over his shoulders. "I wouldn't blame you. You know nothing of me, yet you still met me as I asked. That was quite noble of you, though I expect nothing less from you three."

Severa furrowed her brow, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip. "Uh. Have you two met or something? Or did I pass out and miss a part of this conversation?"

Inigo blinked owlishly, then his eyes widened. He hadn't said anything aloud to the man before he had spoken. That meant...

"How did you..? I didn't... You read my mind," Inigo concluded quietly, disbelievingly. No. That couldn't be it. But that was the only explanation. Inigo /knew/ he had only kept that thought to himself. It couldn't be mere coincidence, as the man had acknowledged the thought after Inigo's apology. "Who are you?"

The man gave a shallow bow, hands clasped. 

"My name is Anankos."

•x•x•

"So," began Owain slowly, his brow furrowed and his gaze fixed on nothing in particular as he ran his thoughts through his mind once more, "you need us to venture to another time— no, another /place/— to fight for you? You say your kingdom is in danger?"

Anankos nodded solemnly. "Yes. My world is quickly descending into chaos, but I know the three of you have more experience than most with worlds left to the whims of the fates."

Inigo frowned. Anankos couldn't possibly know of their dimension-hopping, right? He remained silent, however, to listen to the man's plea.

"This has got to be dangerous, too, right?" said Severa. "I mean, you're asking us to change our identities completely."

Again, Anankos nodded. "You're correct. This will be an incredibly difficult task, should you agree. I truly hope the fates will be kind to you there. If not, death surely awaits you. I... I don't know how much conditions have deteriorated since my departure..."

The trio sat in heavy silence for a moment, each holding a conversation through meaningful glances. They had practically invented their own silent language after spending so much time together. 

Owain raised a brow.   
/Is he telling the truth?/

Severa frowned, shoulders raising slightly. Her eyes widened comically.  
/Dunno. Seems kinda crazy to me./  
She raised both brows.  
/What do you think?/

Inigo cocked his head to the side, then furrowed his brow.  
/I agree. But.../  
He shrugged nonchalantly, pursing his lips and raising his brows.  
/We've seen weirder./

The trio nodded once among themselves, then again, remaining silent.

"I understand your reluctance, and I understand if you wish to refuse. You have every right to refuse my request. I will not force any of you—"

"Who said anything about a refusal?" said Inigo boldly, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Yeah," Severa added, "I never said I wouldn't go. It's just a shame, is all. We've practically just escaped death."

"Though I doubt there's much reward in it for us, I will lend you my unholy strength!" Owain declared resolutely.

Anankos was left staring, mouth agape. He was no doubt preparing for a refusal, and Inigo felt a pang of guilt for his initial reluctance.

"You agree to my request?" he asked softly, obviously astonished. "I must ask... Why?"

"Well, it's clear you're in quite the mess. You need us," Owain replied. From what Anankos could reveal to them, an evil force was running rampant through his world, threatening the already precariously-kept balance between two neighboring kingdoms. He gave nothing of his own kingdom away, though Inigo could infer that it wasn't faring much better.

"We have tons of experience on the battlefield," Severa continued, "and we've all been through a lot. We can tell when someone needs help."

"It's true," Inigo affirmed with a nod. "When someone truly needs our help, it's not in our nature to refuse. The stakes are high—that much is clear. We want to help in any way we can. Even if it all turns out to be some elaborate hoax, we're choosing to believe in you." Taking a step toward Anankos, he held out his hand for the man to shake. Something about this man made him want, /need/, to trust him. It was as if this world he spoke of was calling to him. He just hoped his instincts were right. Anankos glanced from Inigo's hand to his face before grasping it firmly, a trembling smile curling his lips.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you all."

"We're ready for anything you throw at us, Mr. Anankos!" Owain announced proudly.

Anankos seemed to compose himself before nodding, taking a step back and lacing his fingers together.

"Then let us begin."

•x•x•

Inigo was disarmed by... well, he was disarmed. His enemy was invisible besides the shimmer of the air around it, like air rising off of a hot cobblestone road. Yes, invisible. It sounded insane, now that he thought of it. They’d been ambushed just as Anankos had revealed the extent of his knowledge on the trio. Before Inigo could question the man— was he truly a man, or a god?—, The enemy descended upon them, swords drawn. Thanks to Severa’s sharp eye, Inigo and Owain learned how to spot the warriors to strike effectively. 

Now, with his sword a few meters away, Inigo quickly began to devise a plan to retrieve it. Before he could execute it, however, Severa leapt in front of him, pushing him behind her and fighting off what must have been three warriors easily. Thankful for the distraction, Inigo slipped nimbly between invisible bodies and snatched up his sword, helping Severa finish them off.

“Thank you,” Inigo breathed. Severa eyed him for a moment before huffing. 

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Is that it?” Owain called from a good distance away, almost obscured by trees. 

“It seems so,” Inigo called back.

Owain emerged with Anankos, and the four of them gathered in the middle of their impromptu battlefield.

“What were those... /things/?” asked Inigo at the same time Severa spat, “Who were those freaks?”

“It seems they followed me from my world,” Anankos sighed, then bit his lip thoughtfully. “You’re bleeding.”

Inigo blinked, then glanced down. Sure enough, his arm had sustained a pretty serious blow. He supposed the adrenaline still pumping through him dulled the pain quite a bit. “It seems I am,” he said dumbly. Severa gave him her best “you-are-such-an-idiot” face, to which he gave a magnificent eye roll.

“Here,” Anankos began, astutely ignoring Inigo and Severa’s exchange, “let me help. It’s the least I could do.”

With a wave of his hand, Inigo winced as he felt his wound close and mend. While the healing effectively silenced him, Severa piped up.

“What kind of a world do you live in if there are creepy jerks like those around?”

“I...can't tell you that. Not yet,” Anankos murmured. “If I tell you all I know here, I shall vanish from this world. There is a curse that protects the information you seek.”

”A curse?” Inigo repeated lamely. “Oh. Fantastic...”

”Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“If that's how it is, then let's get moving,” Owain suggested. “We won't know what we're dealing with until we have all the details, right?”

Anankos gave him a grateful bow. “I am sorry for the secrecy. As an apology, allow me to reward you three in advance. What sorts of things do humans like..?” he mused to himself, much to the confusion of the trio. Humans? Inigo knew the man was out of the ordinary, but non-human? Severa and Owain exchanged glances, apparently thinking the same.

“Longevity? Eternal beauty? Incomparable wealth?”

“L-longevity?” Owain stammered, eyes wide with wonder and some reservation.

“Eternal beauty?!” Inigo exclaimed. “How can you say that with a straight face?” 

“Why is that making you blush, Inigo?!” Owain demanded, rounding on Inigo. Inigo sputtered, scowling and pointing an accusatory finger at his friend.

“Quiet, Owain!” Inigo snapped, hands slapped over his cheeks. “You're blushing too!”

“You two are totally missing the point!” Severa groaned, fixing both men with a scathing glare. “Those ‘rewards’ are impossible! Longevity? Incomparable wealth?” She whipped around with a furrowed brow and fierce eyes. “Who do you think you are—some kind of god or something?”

Anankos was suspiciously silent for a moment before averting his gaze.  
”Well,” he began, “I have been called one in the past...”

“I...see,” Inigo began, eyeing Anankos with reserve. “But if you have that kind of power, why do you need our help?”

Anankos looked pained as he glanced up to the trio. “That's...”

Severa cut him off. “He probably can't say because of that weird curse he mentioned. All right. Give us the goods, and let’s get out of here.”

“I can't wrap my head around all this,” Inigo sighed. “Longevity sounds nice, but it'll be a long time until we can appreciate it.”

“If there's something else you desire, you have only to name it,” offered Anankos as he laced his fingers together idly.

As Inigo was about to object to any sort of gift, Owain cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Just out of curiosity...can you bring people back to life? Or is that too much to ask?”

At once, Severa and Inigo tensed, eyes wide as they stared at Owain in open mouthed shock. Inigo swallowed thickly, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth as he mulled over this request. 

“Are you crazy?!” Severa demanded, causing Owain to flinch.

Inigo sighed, shoulders slumped. “You're not going to like this, Severa, but I was thinking the same thing. I'm sorry, but I want to know.”

Severa was silent for a moment as she opened her mouth, then closed it multiple times, as if she was searching in vain for words that weren’t there.

“N-no need to apologize,” she finally managed, her voice odd in a manner Inigo couldn’t place. “I mean, I've thought about it countless times, too. If only I could have my real parents back again... Not the ones we helped save, but the ones I grew up with...”

Owain turned to Anankos with hope in his eyes. It almost hurt Inigo to watch him. “So, Anankos? Can you bring back our loved ones?”

The man sighed, head bowed respectfully before he spoke. “I am truly sorry. It is not possible to bring the dead back to life. Such a thing is beyond even my power.”  
He appeared truly apologetic, and perhaps even pained. 

“That's what I thought you'd say,” Owain said softly.

Of course. It was too good to be true, really. The dead were never fated to be anything but dead. Though, Inigo couldn’t let them go completely... he decided to take a risk.

“Then...what about restoring a world that's been decimated?”

Anankos regarded him warily, but with some curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“There's a place we couldn't protect,” Inigo began, his gaze meeting Severa’s, and then Owain’s. They watched him in awe, eyes beginning to shine. “Our original timeline, to be precise. But if it was filled with flowers and plants again... Well, then at least it would look as nice as it did when it was at peace. It may seem small, but it would bring hope.”

“That's not a bad idea,” Severa added. “And I want gravestones too. Gravestones for every person that died in that world. Nice ones.”

“It would mean so much to me to make that world beautiful again...and create a proper memorial for all those who were lost.” Owain managed a shaky smile. “Even if we could never see it with our own eyes...at least we'd know we did something to improve the world we came from.”

“Is that really all you want?” Anankos asked, somewhat incredulously. “That means you'll be risking your lives for a reward you may never see.” He paused as the trio continued to regard him evenly. “You'll have no way of knowing I even did what you asked.”

“That's true. But it's what I want,” said Inigo resolutely. 

“Me, too,” said Severa.

“Yes, me as well. It's the most we can do for that world,” Owain finished with a nod. 

“Very well.” Anankos gave a shallow bow. “I shall restore the earth of your hopeless future. And I shall create gravestones for all who died there. As a keeper of ancient knowledge... As ruler of the world when it began... With my power, pure and righteous, I bless the world of these warriors...”

A brief flash of light blinded the trio, and they shielded their eyes. When it faded, Anankos nodded to each of them.

“It is done. That land is blossoming once more. I have granted your request.”

“Thank you,” Severa said genuinely. “It feels like a great burden has been lifted.”

“It does. Thank you, Mr. Anankos,” Inigo murmured.

As Anankos opened his mouth to reply, he faltered, his brow furrowed. The trio exchanged quick glances.

“What's wrong?” Owain prompted.

“I...heard voices,” Anankos said slowly.

“Voices?” Severa repeated, eyes wide.

Anankos nodded. “When I blessed your world...I sensed the presence of a... tactician. I set up a grave for them and those they were closest to. Though their bodies are long gone, I felt it was the right thing to do. And just now... I heard their voices.”

“That could only be—!” Severa gasped.

“Yes, it is most certainly the ones you are thinking of.”

“So, um... What did they say?” Inigo asked softly.

Anankos smiled, bowing his head. "’Thank you.’ Over and over again. With joy...and with laughter. They also bid you, ‘Safe travels.’” Anankos cocked his head to the side before continuing. “And one more thing... ‘We're always watching over you, no matter where you are.’”

Inigo’s chest felt tight. “Father... Mother...”

Beside him, Severa concealed a sniffle with a cough.

On his other side, Owain let out a soft sob. Inigo looped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

Anankos gave them a moment of peace to themselves before continuing.

“Before we journey to my kingdom, I wish to give you something.”

Anankos dropped a cool, round object into each of their palms. Inigo observed it carefully. It looked almost like a marble with a swirling galaxy inside.

“A tiny crystal ball?” Owain asked weakly, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Listen well. When your work is done, if you wish to return to your true home...use this, and you may do so.”

Inigo glanced up to Anankos, eyes wide.

The man continued. “That crystal has the power to transport you through space and time. After you complete your mission, you can use it to return here. Or, if you truly desire it, you can return to your own time and world. However, know that it can only be used once.”

“So, if we decide to return to the future, we can never come back here again?” Severa asked slowly.

Anankos nodded with an apologetic smile. “Yes. It is taboo for humans to travel through time as it is. Even I do not have the power to break this rule anymore than I already have. That the god of this world had the power to transport so many of you... leaves me in awe.”

“I never thought we'd ever be able to go back. But...” Owain trailed off, looking at the little ball in wonder.

“That would mean leaving everyone here, Inigo said. “I couldn't go back without them.”

“But we could visit our parents' graves... Leave flowers for them...” Severa bit her lip, staring blankly at the ground.

“You need not make your decision now,” Anankos reassured them. “Consider your options carefully. You may wait to decide until after you complete your mission in my world.”

“Yes, let's save the world. Again. As many times as it takes!” Owain announced, determined. “All we need to think about right now is helping our friend here. There's no point thinking or worrying about the future just yet, right? We have a mission to complete first. Then we can decide what to do. After all, the three of us are going together. We're a team. We'll have plenty of time to think it through and talk things over.”

“You are fascinating,” Inigo breathed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “You're right, too. Now is not the time to pine over our old world, or to miss our current one. We've already received a better reward than we could have hoped for. So for right now, for Mr. Anankos... Let's join together and focus on the task at hand!”

“Our parents even gave us their blessings and their thanks. I'll...always cherish that thought. Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go, Anankos. We're counting on you.” Severa gave a resolute nod and a smile.

“Thank you, young warriors. I am counting on all of you as well. We shall begin our journey, then.”

•x•x•

Silvery-gray wasn't a bad color on Inigo— no, /Laslow/— by any means, in his humble opinion. He would always believe his natural white best suited him, but this permanent change in hair color was for the best. They couldn't risk exposing any ties between them and their old lives. Even their hair color would put them, their family, and their world in danger. They'd even changed their names. Inigo chose Laslow as a sort of roundabout tribute to his parents; they'd almost named him such after Olivia's favorite color. Owain chose Odin, after some powerful being —the “allfather” Odin had announced proudly— that Laslow had no knowledge of, nor any interest in. Finally, Severa chose Selena, stubbornly hanging onto her roots with a strikingly similar, yet still beautiful name. As far as they were concerned, the Inigo, Owain, and Severa of old were gone.

Laslow turned away from the mirror in the makeshift tent Anankos had materialized for him and focused on dressing himself in his new clothing, also courtesy of Anankos. The man was a skillful magic user, it appeared. He'd changed their hair color and materialized these tents and clothing. Despite the man remaining mostly enigmatic, Laslow trusted him more than he did most strangers. Especially powerful sorcerers.

"Knock knock," Owain—Odin — announced as he entered Laslow's makeshift tent. The dancer was preoccupied with the gauntlets around his wrists, finally giving up on fastening them correctly and throwing them into his bag.  
"You've changed already? It usually takes you forev...errrr."

Laslow's mouth was suddenly very dry as he turned to face his friend. Not only was Odin's natural ginger now a golden blond, but his new outfit was practically pornographic; it left very, very little to the imagination. What wasn't completely exposed was covered in sheer mesh, exposing more skin. Solid, opaque fabric was used sparingly, it seemed. Solid golden fabric with elegant red trim curled over his shoulders, around his back, and looped under his arms, trailing across his chest in an inverted V shape before coming to an apex and fastening at the base of his throat. The fabric had a high collar that reached his Adam's apple, a red seam trailing from it to where the shawl-like piece clasped at his throat. A matching golden cape trailed down his back and ended mid-thigh. The rest of his torso, from the bottom of his pectorals to the crest of his hipbones, was wrapped in black mesh. Well, not /all/ of it. A considerable amount of skin was left bare in a diamond shape from the base of his throat, to the middle of the swell of each pectoral, to the space between his hips and below his navel. Laslow swallowed thickly.

Now, he'd seen Odin nearly or completely naked more times than he could count over their seventeen years of friendship, but this was different. Hell, he'd seen Selena nearly naked, but what would a friendship be without such experiences, right?

Odin was practically eating up the attention, grinning smugly. Laslow wanted to smack him.

"Like what you see?"

So he did. Granted, it wasn't a hard hit, but Odin still reeled away, clutching his injured bicep.

"Ow! Hey!"

"Piss off. Couldn't you be wearing some real clothes?"

Owain stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout.

"You're so defensive... A mage has to be free, Laslow. Magic has to have room to buzz through the veins, claw at the bones—"

"Wait," Laslow interrupted, eyes wide. "Mage?"

Odin blinked once, then twice, before gasping. "Oh! I didn't tell you? I've dedicated my life to the sword, so I think it's time to focus on magic."

"Have you ever used magic?"

"I mean... a bit. Does it matter?"

Laslow threw his hands in the air. Why did he agree to become friends with Odin again? Right. He didn't.

"I mean... You're trained in the art, yes? You can teach me!"

"I... I suppose so. But, Odin, it takes time. Lots of time. Time that we might not have."

As Odin opened his mouth to retort, Selena pushed through the flaps of the tent unannounced. She, too, appeared to be preparing to speak, but whatever thought she might have voiced was temporarily put on hold as she raised a brow at Odin's outfit. She gave a hum, as if to say, "not bad", and cuffed his shoulder roughly, but fondly. All the while, Laslow gaped at her. Her hair was crimson and stunning, and her outfit nearly matched his.

"I see you're still as fetching as ever, Selena—"

"Gods, and you're still as annoying as ever. Close your mouth; you'll catch flies."

Laslow’s mouth snapped shut. Odin snorted.

"He's been ogling me for a good while, too, so—"

"Is that Anankos I hear?” Laslow announced loudly, pushing through his best friends and rushing from the tent.

“Hey, lover boy! You forgot your bag!” Selena called after him, amusement clear in her voice as Odin guffawed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long gap again, but school has definitely been kicking my butt, and I’ve gotten distracted by a lil thing called Welcome to Night Vale. Anywho! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> Up next: Laslow vs. the man of his dreams (aka here comes Xander)


	14. XXII pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note, there’s some minor blood in this chapter! Nothing crazy, but just warning you!  
> <3
> 
> EDIT: I’ve made some changes to this chapter to fix some inconsistencies!! Check the scene with Garon and the sparring scene!

Make a name for themselves; that was their job. Everything they did, they had to do so as to attract the attention of the royal family of Nohr and secure a position as retainer. At least, that is what Anankos asked of them. Before he transported them to Nohr, he informed the trio that he believed his child, the key to saving his kingdom, was currently residing in Nohr. With no further guidance, the trio was all but dumped in the dark, rainy streets of Nohr, appearing garishly out of place. A woman in a dirtied apron and a faded dress eyed them with suspicion and distrust, hurrying past them, but giving them a wide berth. She dipped into the nearest store, and a moment later, another woman covered in soot peered from the doorway. Laslow figured she must be a blacksmith, and would have offered a friendly smile if she didn’t tighten her grip on the rather large hammer in her hand. Odin jumped as she slammed the smithy door and locked it. 

“Um. Okay,” Selena muttered, staring at the closed door with narrowed eyes before continuing down the cobblestone street. As they walked, Laslow couldn’t help but take in how dark and gloomy everything seemed. The sky was overcast, puddles littered the dirty streets, and it appeared as if the streets were deserted. The few people who were out in the open never spoke or even so much as glanced in another’s direction. It was odd, to say the least. Laslow was used to friendly Ylisse, where strangers were invited in for dinner at a moment’s notice. He was used to his mother’s native Regna Ferox, where everyone was received with a grin and a hearty pat on the back. Even in his father’s Plegia, communities were tightly woven and mostly friendly. Frankly, he was unsettled, and he could sense that Selena and Odin felt the same.

“The castle can’t be far from here, right?” Odin asked, breaking the silent. “Anankos wouldn’t just drop us on the other side of the kingdom... right?”

Selena shrugged, sidestepping a child in rags as he hurtled past her in bare feet. Another child nearly took Odin completely out, barreling after the first just as quickly, her face streaked in dirt. Meanwhile, Laslow eyed a few rather unsavory looking characters as they traveled by the shadows of buildings. 

“Who knows what goes through his head. We have a job, and he expects us to fulfill it as quickly as possible, so I doubt he’d warp us too far away.“ She paused, then sighed. “But, we have a habit of getting the short end of the stick, like, all the time.”

“You are a beam of sunshine, really,” Laslow replied wryly.

Selena scoffed. “Says the self proclaimed pessimist. Not all of us wanna smile that weird smile every waking moment.”

Laslow’s face fell. “I happen to like my smile, you know,” he muttered, frowning at the ground. Selena merely raised a brow. 

“Um, hey!” Odin broke in, pointing somewhere in the distance, above the many dark roofs of moderately tall buildings. “Is that what I think it is? Our destined, uh... destination?”

Laslow glanced up, following Odin’s gaze, but to no avail. He was, unfortunately, depressingly petit, and saw naught but clouds in the distance above those buildings. Selena, blessed with longer legs than her two companions, paused as she squinted at the shape in the sky. 

“Looks like you might be right, as much as it pains me to say it. Looks like castle walls to me,” Selena confirmed, then glanced back to Laslow. She smirked upon noting his narrowed eyes fixed upon the sky. “Need a boost?”

Laslow gave a great roll of his eyes and ignored her. Sometimes he cursed the fact that he was born to two terribly petite parents.

They began to wind themselves through the maze of buildings in the city, heading in the general direction of the castle, when a shrill scream sounded behind them and abruptly stopped them in their tracks. The trio whipped around, hands on sword hilts, and were startled to find the same little girl from before heading their way, tears leaving clean, winding tracks on her ashen cheeks.

“Pl-please help,” she sobbed, nearly falling upon them and gripping the bottom of Selena’s tunic in small, grubby hands. “My-my friend— they t-took him! They—they...” she began to hiccup, holding the tunic tighter as if it were her lifeline. 

Odin knelt down to her level, ever the hero he always aspired to be. “The boy you were with?” he asked, his voice gentle. The girl nodded, letting go of Selena’s clothing to scrub at her eyes. “Who took him?” He continued, offering her his hand. She placed her smaller hand in his after a moment of hesitation. 

“Th-the robbers,” she replied weakly. “But—but they don’t want him.”

Laslow furrowed his brow, exchanging glances with Odin.

“What do you mean?” Selena prompted.

“You have t-to help him!” she wailed, “you have swords! You ha-have to!”

“Why did they take him?” Odin asked softly, frowning. The girl let out a sob, softer this time, but seemed to calm a bit with Odin’s gentle demeanor.

“Y-you promise to help?”

Before Selena or Laslow could open their mouths, Odin was nodding fiercely.

The girl seemed to sag with relief. She glanced around them quickly, then beckoned Odin forward. He complied, as did Selena and Laslow. 

“They... they took him because they want swords like yours,” she whispered, pointing to their sheathed weapons. Upon noting their puzzled expressions, she elaborated. “He’s Mrs. Elizabeth’s son.” She pointed the way the trio had come, but Laslow was more puzzled than ever. The girl frowned at them as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The blacksmith.”

Odin’s eyes widened as he whipped his head around to meet Laslow’s gaze. “The scary lady,” he hissed. Laslow shot him a fierce glare, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Shut up!” Selena hissed back. Composing herself, she focused on the girl and bent down to speak. “Where can we find them?”

The girl chewed thoughtfully on her lip. Laslow glanced around them, startling as he spotted eyes peering at them from nearby windows and doorways. The Nohrian citizens watched with mixed suspicion and interest, and Laslow felt their gazes prickle at his skin. “The inner city,” the girl finally replied, “that’s where they usually live. I-I can’t go with you. It’s too scary. But, I can get Mrs. Elizabeth to tell you the way.”

The trio straightened and exchanged glances. 

“This isn’t our job,” Selena whispered, scowling.

“This could be our big break,” Odin replied. 

“The inner city has to be near the castle walls, right? We’re going there anyway.”

Laslow sighed. “I have to agree with Odin,” he conceded. “Besides, we could make a name for ourselves through this act of kindness.”

Selena was silent before huffing out a heavy sigh, shrugging.

Smiling, Laslow turned to face the girl.

“Lead the way.”

•x•x•

Elizabeth had been quite ready to beat the group senseless with her mallet when they appeared at her doorstep, but thankfully paused when she spotted the girl. When the child informed her that she had gotten these “soldiers” to help retrieve her son, she’d seemed puzzled. The first woman they’d seen on the streets— Alena, the girl had said— then appeared in the doorway as well, taking in the trio with sharp eyes

“If these are soldiers,” she began, “they aren’t the King’s.”

The blacksmith seemed to visibly relax, leaning against the other woman, who wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“She told us the brigands took your son to receive your weapons as random,” Laslow explained, and Elizabeth nodded.

“They’ve threatened it before. I should have known better, but I didn’t believe them. Not ‘til today.”

“Can you lead us to them?” Odin asked, voice faltering as Alena’s sharp gaze landed on him once more.

“A magic user, huh?” she murmured. “You’ve been trained, and trained good. Aren’t from here, are you? Your accents aren’t like anything I’ve ever heard.” Before the trio could reply, she continued. “As long as you can bring our son back home, I couldn’t care less where you’re from. Thank you.”

“We’ll bring him home to you, ma’am,” Laslow assured her with a smile. 

Elizabeth stepped down from the doorway, bidding Alena goodbye. “Let’s not waste time. Follow me.”

•x•x•

Elizabeth led them as far as she could before giving them the few directions that would take them the rest of the way into the heart of the city. Eyes followed them the entire way as they traversed deeper and deeper. At last, the massive walls of the castle were nearly right before them, as were an alarming number of people dressed in tattered clothes. Laslow placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, as did Selena, and Odin clutched his tome tighter in his hand. They hadn’t seen this many people out in the open at once since they arrived in Nohr, which certainly raised red flags for Laslow. 

“What’d’ya want?” asked a gruff voice behind them. They whipped around, startled, and realized they’d been surrounded unknowingly. “Ain’t from the outskirts, are ya?”

Bands of brigands had divided themselves into fiercely territorial groups throughout the city, Elizabeth had explained to them. The inner city group was feared for their skill, just as the band on the outskirts was known for their agility.

“We’ve come for the boy,” Laslow announced, startling himself with the steadiness of his voice.

“Yeah? You and what army? Where’s our end of the deal?”

“There was no deal!” Odin replied as he released a mighty bolt of lightning from his hand. Selena, astonished, didn’t have time to reprimand Odin for his short notice before her sword clashed with another. Laslow parried blows with another brigand, but ultimately overpowered him, knocking him to the ground. The trio fought back to back, electricity and sparks swirling around them. Though the brigands were surprisingly skilled, the trio was far better equipped, and far more experienced. Just as Laslow disarmed their apparent leader, Odin scooped the boy into his arms. They were down to about ten brigands, and Laslow was preparing to knock the count down to nine when movement from the corner of his eye distracted him. Whipping around, he nicked the arm of a man who was most certainly not a brigand. Eyes widening, he watched as two more like that man sent the remaining brigands running. Selena never lowered her sword, watching the newcomers with suspicion. Faster than he could react, Laslow was disarmed, and his hands forced behind his back. As Selena readied herself to charge, she, too, was disarmed and her hands bound. That left Odin, wide eyed with a child in his arms. He slowly put the boy down, who promptly hugged his legs.

“You are under arrest in the name of King Garon of Nohr, street rats,” the man who held Laslow, apparently a guard, hissed. 

“Who is that boy?” A second guard asked.

“We were saving him from those brigands. His mother is—“

“Right,” scoffed the first guard. “And I’m the high prince of Hoshido. Come with us.” 

The third guard detached the boy from Odin’s legs while the guard holding Selena took Odin, as well. They were led toward the castle walls, undoubtably going into the castle itself.

“This would all be easier if I had my brand,” Odin whispered to Selena.  
“What would be easier?” she scoffed, “Getting laughed at and thrown in jail, or having those invisible freaks track down our parents and kill them?”

“Well,” Laslow began, stumbling a bit on the ground. The guard jerked him back into place, and he growled under his breath. “We’ve made a name for ourselves, indeed.”

•x•x•

“These loons were found outside squabbling amongst the other filth outside the castle,” the first guard announced as he pushed Laslow in front of him. Laslow staggered, then fell to his knees on the marble floor of the throne room. The room was rather dark, aside from the flooring. The concave ceiling was tall enough to rival those in Ylisstol’s many rooms. A dark crimson rug trailed up the stairs to the throne, which was large and ornately decorated with gold. Odin landed beside Laslow, nearly falling on his face, but Selena remained standing on his other side. Laslow’s guard pushed on her shoulders and she fell with a growl.

The king, a bearded man sporting an impressive crown, was flanked on each side by a man and a woman. Something about the king unnerved him, but he couldn’t quite place it. The woman was one of the most beautiful Laslow had ever seen, with long lavender locks styled in a braid that cascaded over her shoulder. She wore a beautiful black gown accented with gold that complimented her pale skin well. Laslow tried not to let his gaze linger too long on her rather voluptuous chest. Turning his gaze to the man, he felt his breath catch. Laslow had always been a rather petite man, but the man before him would make even those larger than Laslow seem minuscule in comparison. He was a tall and well built man, but his stature contrasted starkly with the delicate golden curls framing his angular features. His nose, also delicate yet undeniably elegant, reminded Laslow of the marble statues of ancient kings placed around Ylisse. 

“We were merely trying to save a child from their clutches, milord,” Odin began, bowing his head as he addressed the king. “You see, they—“

“Have you no respect?” spat the guard. “You mustn’t speak unless prompted by—“

“Let him speak,” Garon interrupted, waving a hand for Odin to continue. The guard set his jaw, but obeyed.

“Thank you, milord.” Odin bowed once more. “Those brigands, they wanted weapons. That boy was the son of a blacksmith, so they held him for ransom.”

“We aren’t brigands, Your Majesty,” Severa continued, promoting Garon to raise a brow. “The blacksmith asked us to save her son.”

“Whence do you hail?” Garon inquired. “Your accents are strange, and you must have considerable training in combat if what my guards say is true. You easily took on thirty brigands at once, and would have dispatched the rest had you not been arrested.”

Laslow saw the blond man’s brow raise in interest. The woman straightened and tilted her head as she observed them, also appearing rather interested.

“We hail from a faraway continent,” Laslow began, eyes briefly meeting the blond’s. He quickly turned his attention back to the king, cheeks warm. “We’ve been traveling for some time as... mercenaries.”

“And you’ve been trained in magic?”

Odin nodded, then paused, now gazing at his friend. “Well... not formally. Laslow actually taught me a lot of what I know.”

“Laslow?”

“That— that’s me, milord,” Laslow stammered, bowing. He hadn’t expected attention to be drawn to him so abruptly, and his cheeks began to heat in response. Without looking, he felt the blond man’s eyes on him. He also felt as if he were ready to combust right there and then.

“And you?” The king asked, gesturing to Odin. 

“Odin, milord.”

He then glanced to Selena, who bowed as well. 

“Selena. Milord.”

Laslow watched as the woman by the throne smiled sweetly. Selena shifted self-consciously under her gaze, eyes wide.

Garon eyed them for a moment, obviously scrutinizing them closely. “How long have you been in Nohr?”

The trio was silent for a few moments before Selena thought fast. “Only a few days, milord. This is our first in the city.”

“And you’ve already caused such commotion.”

“We apologize, milord,” she replied evenly. Laslow believed that was the first time he’d ever heard her apologize sincerely. 

Garon was silent before sitting forward in his throne, regarding the trio with interest. “You have shown considerable strength, and I suppose you’ve done a service for our capital.” He then turned to man at his side. “What say you, Xander?”

Xander. The name was strong, yet flowed easily off the tongue. The man in question let his gaze roam over the trio, then faced the king.

“I believe they speak the truth, father.”

Laslow tried not to let his astonishment show on his face. Xander was the prince. Or, /a/ prince. And his voice was a lovely baritone to boot. 

“And you, Camilla?” Garon addressed the woman.

Camilla nodded, her hands folded thoughtfully in front of her. “Yes,” she said, her voice smooth, and deeper in timbre than Laslow expected. Selena fidgeted once more. “I’d say they’re promising candidates. Wouldn’t you, Xander?”

The prince gave an affirmative nod, then faced his father. Candidates? Laslow furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure he liked this new development.

Garon shared a few soft words with his children, too quiet for Laslow to hear even as he strained his ears. The trio sat in silence, glancing idly around the room as they spoke. After a few moments of conversation, the three royals faced them once more.

“You are free on all charges,” Garon announced, and the trio nearly sagged in relief. “But, I cannot let you go.” 

Laslow then felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. What could the king want with them? The possibilities, most unpleasant, made his mind reel.

“Your strength is a rare gem.” Garon began, betraying no emotion on his face. Laslow couldn’t read him, much to his dismay. “Warriors like you are scarce in the kingdom, therefore my children have chosen to appoint you as candidates to become royal retainers.”

The dancer couldn’t believe his ears. He turned to his friends, and they looked back, just as wide-eyed. 

“Y-Your Majesty,” Odin stammered, barely containing his grin, “thank you!”

“Do you accept?” 

“O-of course!” Laslow nodded, perhaps one too many times. 

“Yes, milord,” Selena replied, her voice unusually warm.

“Then it is settled. Rise,” Garon commanded.

The trio did as they were told, staggering to their feet with some difficulty. Xander and Camilla descended the stairs, and all watched in rapt attention. Camilla stopped before Selena, smiling warmly. She held out her hand, and the mercenary took it after a moment of hesitation. Laslow thought he noted color in her cheeks and she brought Camilla’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Milady,” Selena said, her voice strong and steady. Camilla laughed softly, the sound low in her chest. 

“Selena. My retainer.”

Laslow startled as he turned to find Xander in front of him. He hadn’t even heard the man approach. Up close, he was even more handsome than Laslow had originally thought. His eyes were a rich mahogany— or were they burgundy? They were undoubtably wise-looking beyond his years. His skin was beautifully smooth aside from a few scars here and there. Laslow idly wondered how he obtained them all. Strangely, the man seemed at a loss for what to do. Either that, or he really was hesitant to accept Laslow at all. The mercenary deflated ever so slightly, but glanced up in mild surprise as Xander offered him his hand, as well. Eyes wide, Laslow panicked. Was he supposed to kiss that hand like Selena did? Was Selena even supposed to do that? Everyone was watching him, and he felt his heart begin to race. Odin nudged him from behind, snapping him from his thoughts, and he quickly took Xander’s hand. The prince’s eyes widened at his sudden movement, and Laslow felt like a complete idiot. He briefly considered apologizing before bringing Xander’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his fingers, right above the third knuckle. 

“Milord,” Laslow murmured, meeting Xander’s gaze after steeling himself. He smiled ever so slightly, and his heart soared when Xander returned it.

“Laslow,” he replied softly, and it felt... right.

“Who will be my liege, Your Highness?” Odin asked after a moment of silence in which Laslow felt as if he would melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My son, Leo. He is a gifted knight. Dark knight, that is. Perhaps your magic will be of use to him,” Garon replied. 

As if on cue, a blond boy of about sixteen entered through the doors of the throne room, trailed by an older man with fluffy white hair and a dark eyepatch. 

“You sent a guard after me?” The boy, presumably Leo from his resemblance to Xander.

“I wanted you to meet your new potential retainer. Our new soldier,” Garon announced, extending a hand to Odin. The mage turned and bowed to Leo, offering a warm smile. Leo stared back, brow furrowed. The white-haired man beside him glanced quickly from the king to Odin, mouth open as if he wanted to speak but hadn’t decided what he wished to say.

“Milord,” he murmured to Leo, tone urgent and voice smooth, “you can't possibly be thinking of—“

“I have no say in the matter, Niles,” Leo replied evenly, sounding wiser than his young age. Laslow worried at his lip as he saw Odin straighten from his bow, looking hurt. Perhaps Odin really had gotten the short end of the stick.

Sighing, Leo approached Odin and held out his hand, small in comparison to Odin’s. The mage took it, watching the young prince hesitantly. 

“Well?” said Leo, beginning to scowl. Niles met Odin’s gaze with his single azure eye and regarded him warily. Finally, Odin pressed his lips to the back of Leo’s hand, murmuring a soft “milord” that still held hope. Laslow felt a pang in his heart for his dear friend. 

“You will be housed, fed, and dressed starting tonight. Tomorrow, you shall begin your training with the rest,” Garon explained, fingers tapping on his armrest as he broke the brief, tense silence. “You are dismissed.”

A chorus of formalities and a wave of bows rippled through the room before everyone but the king filed out. Upon exiting, Selena, Odin, and Laslow were promptly ushered away by a few maids waiting at the doors. In the rush, Laslow glanced over his shoulder, only to find Xander looking right back.

•x•x•

Laslow grunted as he scraped his blunt sword against Xander’s, abruptly swinging it up and around to pull the sword from his liege’s hand. It was a move he had pulled countless times in the heat of battle, and it was as familiar as muscle memory. The sword clattered to the ground of the gardens, and gasps rang out amongst the castle staff and royals around them. Xander watched him with eyes wide in wonder, and Laslow turned to face the crowd as he caught his breath, chest heaving. 

The trio had already bested the other potential candidates easily in earlier matches. Odin’s prior training as a swordsman seemed to impress the royals, aside from Leo. The little prince still watched Odin from the stands with apprehension and distaste in his eyes. Camilla sat a little closer to the edge of her seat each time Selena dispatched another candidate. Laslow didn’t believe he was drawing to premature conclusions when thinking that perhaps Camilla was already choosing favorites. And by favorites, Laslow meant Selena. 

As for Xander; each time Laslow had advanced, he met his gaze, which was dark and unreadable. His face remained stony, and Laslow almost believed it would continue that way, until the dancer’s arm was nicked by an axe. Laslow winced, leaping away on nimble feet, and spared a glance to the stands. The prince’s lips parted, and his fingers splayed themselves out over his knees, pressing hard against his dark armor. This small gesture renewed the fire in Laslow’s heart. He’d trained for weeks for this tournament of sorts alongside many promising candidates for retainer, but this was his to win. Anankos had chosen them, and before that, Naga. His opponent quickly found herself on her back, eyes wide and gasping for the air that had been forced from her lungs. As he was declared the winner of this match, he helped her to her feet with an easy smile. She curled her lip at him, but accepted his aid. Thus, the trio had nearly secured their position as official retainers. Their last hurdle was to spar with their future lieges themselves.

Laslow’s sparring session with Xander had been intense, and went on far longer than Selena’s or Odin’s. Odin had bested Leo in their spar with swords, as there really was no such thing as blunt practice magic. Severa lost to Camilla, even though the princess was armed with an axe. That left Laslow, who had apparently won against Xander. Even he couldn’t believe it, as Xander had almost bested him countless times, and almost always seemed to have the upper hand. He was a skilled swordsman, indeed. Laslow thought idly that Chrom would have enjoyed sparring with Xander, as it would have been a welcome challenge.

Laslow was yanked from his thoughts as he felt a poke on his back, just below his ribs. Laughter rang out around them, and Laslow turned to find Xander, smiling brighter than he’d seen so far, with the end of his sword pressed to Laslow’s back. Laslow couldn’t help but laugh, turning to face his liege, who chuckled softly. Offering his hand, Xander murmured, “Thank you.” Laslow was puzzled. What was there to thank? He pushed the thought aside as he took Xander’s hand and gripped it tightly.

•x•x•

“I will go first, then you will repeat,” Xander instructed, his gaze locked with Laslow’s. Laslow nodded, feeling a bit breathless.

“I swear by blood in my veins that I will uphold my duty as prince. I will lend him my strength, and he will grant me safety. I will protect my retainer as he protects me, and will not leave his side until death do we part. This oath is proof of our bond, and will never be severed.”

Laslow took a deep breath, running Xander’s words through his mind once more, then began to speak.

“I swear by the blood in my veins that I will uphold my duty as retainer.” He paused, searching for his words, and blinked owlishly as Xander silently mouthed them to him. Reading his lips, Laslow continued. “I will grant him safety, and he will lend me strength. I will protect my prince as he protects me, and will not leave his side until death do we part. This oath is proof of our bond, and will never be severed.”

A maid then presented Xander a pillow upon which a tempered steel knife lay. It glinted in the light, and Laslow watched it in mixed wonder and befuddlement.

Xander took the knife and pressed the blade to his palm. Blood welled up around the shining blade, stark against Xander’s pale skin. Laslow gasped, and opened his mouth to speak, but Xander silenced him with a shake of his head and a small, reassuring smile. He passed the knife to Laslow, and nodded as he pressed the blade to his palm, albeit hesitantly. It stung as he pressed harder to break the skin, and his own blood began to collect around the blade. He glanced up after staring transfixed at his palm to find Xander offering him his bloodied hand. Taking a wild guess, Laslow took the hand with his own, wincing as their injuries met. He ignored the pain in favor of looking into Xander’s eyes, which were soft and reassuring. Finally, Xander pulled his hand away, and the oath was finished. They were now bound by both word and blood to serve each other until the end of their days. As Xander cleaned and wrapped Laslow’s hand, he mused that he wouldn’t mind that. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically wrote 95% of this chapter today and spent forever trying to think of a plausible scenario. Sorry if this seems rushed (or if you find any plot holes I’ve missed)! Anyway thank you for reading!! I apologize for typos bc I didn’t read this over lolololol. ALSO I made myself a sideblog on tumblr, so you can yell at me or ask me stuff or whatever you want. It’s combatjorts and it’s extremely empty atm.  
> Next chapter: slow burn and Laslow tries to flirt ;)


	15. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!! It’s been forever but finally I’ve finished a chapter!! If you haven’t already, go back and read the last half of the previous chapter (ch. 14), because I made some edits for inconsistencies that bothered me for the sake of pacing. Anyway, enjoy!! I hope to have the next chapter out really soon!!

**XXIII**

There was never a dull moment in the castle, really. Laslow met someone new each day, it seemed, though it was usually maids and other workers who spent the majority of their time making themselves scarce if they weren’t actively working on something else. They didn’t seem to trust him, he noted, as when he’d flash a friendly smile, they’d scurry away, glare at him, whisper amongst themselves, or perform some combination of the three. After a few months at the castle, it began to wear on Laslow’s nerves, and his patience. It was only until his third month that he was treated not as a suspicious stranger, but a fellow member of the royal staff by another castle worker.

Laslow was returning to his chambers for a moment of rest after being dismissed by Xander for the afternoon. His fellow retainer, who he’d yet to actually meet, was presumably capable enough to handle Xander and his recent bouts of sour moods. As he rounded a turn to descend another staircase, the door to the landing burst open and a heap of pink, black, and white crumpled to the floor at his feet. Said heap groaned and began to stand on unsteady feet, revealing a dazed maid with pink locks pulled into an otherwise neat ponytail.

“Are you quite alright?” Laslow asked, ready to steady the girl should she stumble.

“Mm, huh..? Oh!” With wide eyes, she brushed off her skirt and gave a shallow, wobbling curtesy. “I am _so_ sorry! I was rushing up the stairs, and I turned the handle to the door, but the door wasn’t quite open and I just kept going, then it gave way and—“

Laslow held up a hand to cease her nervous blabbering, laughing softly. “All I wanted to know was if you were alright.”

The girl flushed in embarrassment, averting her gaze and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes. Yeah. I’m okay. This happens all the time, so I think I have a skull of steel by now.”

“Right then,” he replied with a nod. “Where are you headed in such a rush? May I walk you where you need to go?”

The maid’s eyes went wide once more as she cocked her head to regard Laslow carefully. He deflated a bit at this, as he figured this was the part where she excuses herself and leaves in a rush, like the rest of the castle staff. Instead, she folded her hands over her skirt and smiled an easy but odd smile. He couldn’t quite place the emotion it conveyed.

“You’re not from here, are you? Are you new?”

“Er... relatively so. How could you tell?”

“You’re so... so _nice_. I mean, not that no one here is nice, but... people here aren’t normally so nice to people they don’t know. Like, you have no idea who I am, but you still reached out to me, you know?”

Laslow furrowed his brow. “How does anyone make friends here?”

“Make friends?” She worried at her lip, eyes downcast. “We aren’t here to make friends.”

“You don’t seem particularly satisfied with that fact,” Laslow observed.

She sighed, hanging her head. “You’re right... But, in the end, it doesn’t really happen anyway. Jobs are competitive around here, and people are just _jerks_...”

The way she described it, the maid made life at the castle seem downright dismal. He had to admit, it wasn’t all sunshine and good times, but he enjoyed it enough. After all, he had friends, right? There was Selena, and Odin, and... ah. He pursed his lips, then smiled a warm smile, holding out his hand. “Let’s change that, yeah? I’m Laslow, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

His smile brightened as a wonderful grin broke out on her face. She took his hand and gave it a hearty shake, laughing. His heart soared.

“I’m Felicia. It’s nice to meet you, too!”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, prompting her to avert her gaze with a startled cough. He merely smiled at the color rising high in her pretty cheeks.

“S-so! What do you do? Because I’m a maid. Sort of. Um,” Felicia stammered out, gingerly retracting her hand and cradling it to her chest with a sort of dreamy reverence.

“I’m a retainer,” Laslow replied with a chuckle at her awkwardness. At once, her eyes widened, jaw going slack.

“Seriously? I didn’t know King Garon was looking for more retainers,” Felicia mused, furrowing her brow. “He’s been acting pretty weird lately. I mean, he has moods, so I guess hiring retainers out of the blue is one of them?” She paused, then gasped. “Not that you don’t deserve your job! I’m sure you do! It’s just that... well,” she sighed, then glanced around the empty corridor before leaning closer to lower her voice. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

Laslow regarded her warily, a feeling that was two parts uncertainty and one part fear pooling in his gut. Felicia seemed to notice whatever odd look he must have on his face and reached out to take his hand in a comforting gesture. She squeezed a bit too tight, but Laslow felt it would be impolite to pull away. “I’m not making anything better, am I? You’ll be fine.” She pulled away and smiled, but her eyes widened a moment later as some sort of realization hit her. She really was charming, and Laslow wouldn’t mind sweeping her off her feet if he wasn’t so sure he’d end up sprawled on the floor in the process. “Who’s your liege? Sorry, I forgot to even ask.”

“Prince Xander.” His chest swelled with pride each time he got the opportunity to tell anyone who he served. However, Felicia’s reaction wasn’t quite what he was expecting. She seemed more confused than anything, with just a tinge of surprise. Laslow couldn’t help but deflate a bit.

“Xander?” She repeated, brows furrowed. “Prince Xander vowed never to take another retainer... He chose you?”

“W-well... not exactly,” Laslow replied, staring at a crack in the cold stone floor. What was this about Xander refusing to take another retainer? Was he unwanted? “King Garon chose me and my two companions practically off the streets. It was all so quick.” He thought as he recanted these events, re-examining Xander’s warm reception of him, and Garon’s suspiciously instant trust of he and his friends. “But Milord and Princess Camilla agreed with King Garon’s decisions wholeheartedly,” Laslow posited firmly, more for his own sake than anything else.

Felicia chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. “They really have no choice. Garon isn’t really open to differing opinions. I mean, he’s had no qualms dealing with children who oppose him before.” She was silent for a moment before apparently realizing what she revealed. Said realization hit her like a sudden blow, as she quickly slapped a hand over her mouth with a soft gasp. Laslow’s eyes widened with the implications of that statement once he turned it over in his mind a few times. Garon was quickly molding into a person he didn’t trust, and definitely didn’t know like he thought he did. “You didn’t hear that! I’m not supposed to know!”

“It’s... that’s alright.” Though he was extremely curious, he’d drop the subject for poor Felicia’s sake. She looked about ready to glare herself a hole in the floor to jump into. “Here, let’s continue this conversation as we walk. You were heading somewhere, yes?”

Seemingly relieved that he’d changed the subject, the tension in Felicia’s shoulders disappeared, and she nodded. “Right!”

As she began walking back the way Laslow came, he raised a brow. He picked up the pace to walk beside her. “Where are you off to, anyway? You seemed in quite the rush.”

“Oh! Lord Xander’s quarters.”

Again, Laslow furrowed his brow in confusion. “Er... I mean this with all due respect, but aren’t servants forbidden from entering royal quarters without a specific writ?”

“Oh! Well, yes,” she began, wringing her hands. “But I’m also a retainer.” Upon noting Laslow’s bewilderment, She elaborated, “I’m my liege’s maid and retainer. So, um, double duty! Ahahah...”

“I’ve never... maid /and/ retainer? How odd... You can’t possibly be Lord Leo’s retainer. Or Lord Xander’s, for that matter. I don’t believe her name was Felicia...” Truthfully, he hadn’t yet met Xander’s other retainer. He simply knew her name. Ah, what was it...?

“No, I’m not a retainer for any of the royals here,” she replied, interrupting Laslow’s thoughts and puzzling him even more. Her shoe collided with the lip of a stair and she wobbled precariously before righting herself, nearly giving Laslow a heart attack in the process. She then continued on, but elaborated no more on the subject.

“May I ask who your liege is?” Laslow inquired after a moment of silence, holding open the great wooden door that led to Xander’s wing of the castle once they reached the correct landing. Felicia smiled somewhat awkwardly and ducked through the doorway, waiting for Laslow as he shut the door carefully.

“There’s only one possible person left,” she hinted enigmatically before pulling her thin lips into a frown. “You really don’t know, do you?” Laslow really didn’t, that was for sure. Who could be left? He was sure he’d met all of the royal family. Perhaps he’d been wrong... After all, Garon seemed to be keen on keeping many secrets. It appeared Xander had inherited the same tendencies, much to Laslow’s chagrin.

“I... I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied, though he was becoming increasingly eager to discover the answer.

“Prince Xander hasn’t told you yet? I mean, I know other servants aren’t really in the know, but I assumed retainers would hear about their liege’s family in passing conversation,” she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Laslow felt that statement as it settled as a heavy weight in his gut. He was beginning to realize just how little he knew of Xander, and just how little they truly spoke to each other. Four months living in the castle, and three months as a royal retainer brought the two closer, naturally, but not as much as Laslow wished, or even as much as he thought, it seemed. What was he doing wrong? No. Xander didn’t owe him anything. As Felicia said; he wasn’t here to make friends. Getting this worked up so soon would only hurt him more in the future. He is his Lord’s dutiful retainer, and nothing more, and he will act as such. He wouldn’t hurt himself further with the idealistic situation he had dreamed up for himself.

“Laslow?” Felicia prompted, concern evident in her gaze. Laslow realized belatedly that Felicia said something, but he was too lost in his self-empowering reverie to really hear her.

“I-I’m sorry. I was thinking to myself,” he admitted. The concern didn’t leave her gaze, to his slight annoyance. He was fine. He was.

“My liege is Corrin. The middle child,” she explained. “Well, not a _child_ anymore. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I guess I’m stuck in the past,” she laughed softly. “I’m just one of a few of Corrin’s retainers. We live in the Northern Fortress.”

“The Northern Fortress?” Laslow hadn’t ever heard a mention of a fortress with a member of the royal family residing within it.

“It’s sort of an outpost north of here. It’s like a little mini castle! That’s what I like to think, anyway,” Felicia said with a shrug and a smile that didn’t seem fully genuine. “I came here to deliver a message from Corrin. The poor thing is sick, but we’re on the case! Well, my sister and Jakob are, anyway. Xander was going to visit soon, but Corrin would rather him not, because “it wouldn’t do to have the crown prince sick, too”. That’s what I’m supposed to deliver. And some more, if I could only remember it all... Oh...”

“Perhaps I could be of some help? I know an excellent recipe for tea my mother gave me when I was sick,” Laslow offered. “I’m sure I could find the ingredients somewhere around here.”

“Oh! That’s really nice of you, Laslow! I might take you up on that offer.”

Before they knew it, they made it to the grand mahogany doors of Xander’s quarters. The wood was a rich brown, almost black, and towered almost to the high arching ceiling of this wing of the castle. Felicia grasped the iron door knocker, which took the shape of a roaring lion with a ring hooked behind its lower canines, and pounded once, twice, three times. The great door opened shortly after with a deep groan, revealing the handsome face of Prince Xander.

“Peri, I told you, you’ve been... dismissed.” Xander blinked a few times, trailing off as he no doubt realized neither of the visitors at his door were Peri. Ah, of course. That must be the other retainer. “Good evening, Felicia. And Laslow,” the Prince greeted, raising a brow at the latter. The last bit was presumably meant to be a statement, but came out sounding more like a question. The slight furrow to Xander’s brow indicated concern. What was so odd about Laslow returning?

“Hi, Lord Xander,” Felicia greeted cheerfully, curtsying deeply. As she straightened, she kicked her own leg with the one she extended behind her and threw herself off balance. At once, Laslow was steadying her with hands on her back and waist, and she laughed out her breathless, if not sheepish thanks. Xander’s gaze merely flicked between them, unreadable.

Laslow cleared his throat and bowed with a flourish. “Hello again, Milord.”

“What brings you here?” Xander asked, and Laslow prepared to reply until he noticed the prince’s gaze was directed towards Felicia only. Again, he reminded himself that Xander owes him nothing, and that he is fine with that.

“I have a message from Corrin. Let’s see... ‘My dear brother, I regret to inform you that I am ill. I’d rather you postpone any visits you have planned for now, as it wouldn’t do to have the crown prince sick, too. I hope to see you after I’m well again. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Love, Corrin’.”

To Laslow’s surprise, Xander’s lips were quirked in a slight smile. “Corrin couldn’t have written that down for you?”

“Huh? Oh! I actually have the written version right here,” Felicia admitted, pulling out a rather crumpled piece of paper from some unseen pocket in her dress and handing it over. “I just wanted to work on my memorization skills. My attention span is shorter than a wolfskin’s...”

Xander’s eyes roved over the note for a moment before he carefully pocketed it. It was almost strange to see the prince without his armor. His cotton tunic was thin and low-cut, showing off a bit of toned chest that Laslow had to tear his eyes from.

“And you?”  
  
Laslow startled as he was addressed, wide eyes meeting Xander’s own. He felt a bit guilty for having stared so blatantly at his liege just moments before. “Wh-What?”

“Have you a reason for coming, too?”

“Er, I was merely speaking with Felicia here. I offered to walk with her to continue our original conversation.”

“You’ve met?”

“Just minutes ago, Milord.” After a beat, he added, only slightly bitter, “She told me about Corrin.”

Xander nodded, gaze averted towards something above Laslow’s head. “Yes. I apologize for not informing you sooner. I visit the little princ- _Corrin_ often.” A beat, then, “Perhaps you can accompany me when that illness has passed.”

Laslow nodded maybe a bit too many times, heart soaring more than he’d like to admit. No. He had to quit. He was Xander’s retainer, nothing more.

“Certainly, Milord.”

•x•x•

Word came two weeks later that Corrin was well once more, and a week later, Xander had organized a day trip to the Northern Fortress. Laslow got to meet Peri at last as they prepared for the trip, and needless to say, was incredibly surprised. The girl had to have been only a year or two younger than him, but acted a decade younger than that. On top of that, she was a bit on the odd side, and just as intimidating. If Laslow’s father wasn’t the way he was, Laslow might even be frightened by Peri.

Snow had begun to fall in round, fat flakes, adding to the inch thick layer already on the ground from the previous day’s snow. All three of them had bundled in layers, even donning armor mostly in case of ambush, but also for extra insulation. Over of his cotton underclothes, woolen tunic, and fur-lined coat, he wore his father’s old black cloak. It wasn’t much, but it provided extra warmth and security. His boots crunched in the icy layer on the ground and his breath puffed from his mouth in great clouds of white as he hooked one boot in the stirrup of Peri’s saddle, preparing to swing himself onto her horse. Just as he had seated himself behind his fellow retainer, a smooth voice rang out in the snowy silence.

“Oh, Xander! You weren’t thinking of leaving your little sister behind, hm?” Camilla cooed, her long black cloak trailing its gold trim over the surface of the snow. From the iron door she came from appeared Selena and another woman who could only be the other stoic retainer, Beruka, his best friend had told him about. As the door began to close once more, it was halted by the outstretched hand of that one-eyed retainer of Leo’s, who stepped into the light and held the door for the little prince himself. Niles, if Laslow remembered that name correctly, let the door fall shut, no doubt in poor Odin’s face if the pattern of lieges and retainers continued.

“I’m only coming because I don’t want to be stuck in that horrid castle with Elise and these two buffoons,” Leo muttered, gaze catching on Niles as he picked at his nails, and Odin as he engaged the heavy door in combat and appeared to be losing.

“It’s okay to admit that you miss Corrin, dear,” Camilla replied with a smile, eliciting an indignant huff from her younger brother. The young prince was dressed quite similarly to how he normally appeared, but looked a bit bulkier thanks to extra layers under his armor. A deep violet cloak was also draped over his shoulders, the hood not yet pulled over his head.

Just as Odin successfully overcame the dreaded iron door, he was bowled over by a flash of red, white, and blue, receiving a face full of snow for his efforts. Laslow winced at his poor friend and his poorer luck, dismounting to come to his aid as Selena left Camilla’s side to do the same. The two friends helped their comrade to his feet, nearly falling over in the process as Odin’s assailant stood uncomfortably close to the group on wobbling legs.

“Sorry, my good sir!” came the man’s booming voice, causing the already groaning Odin to clap his hands over his ears. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine,” Odin rasped, “just fine.”

Elise then bounded out the door with a gasp, the little princess taking Odin’s hand in both of her smaller ones.

“Are you okay? I’m really sorry about that... Arthur’s pretty clumsy. If something bad can happen, it happens to him,” she explained apologetically. With a pat to the back of his hand, she bounced over to Arthur. The door shut as Elise’s second retainer exited the castle, a half-eaten apple in her hand. She took one look at Odin before her gaze immediately flicked toward Arthur. She seemed to connect whatever disaster must have happened to the two of them, and seemed rather unfazed.

“Milady, lets get you on your horse,” she spoke, her voice deep and smooth. Laslow was admiring the sharp bow of her lips when Odin’s head lolled onto his shoulder.

“Laslowww,” he groaned pitifully, “how long will this journey take? I’ve been awake since even before the sun itself rose from its slumber... and my head hurts...”

“Quit whining,” Selena quipped, scowling. She stopped supporting the mage, who immediately sagged at least half of his weight into Laslow. The mercenary squawked at the sudden added weight before managing to haul Odin into a completely standing position.

“You’ll get to rest once you get on horseback. We aren’t walking, you know.

Odin finally perked up. “Really?”

Laslow rolled his eyes. At least Odin was dressed for the weather, as he wore considerably more clothing than usual. “You really thought we were going to walk all that way?”

Before Odin could formulate a defensive retort, Leo’s voice was carrying through the snowy air. “Odin! Fetch me my horse!”

At once, the mage deflated, head falling back onto Laslow’s shoulder. “I’m /soooo/ tired, Laslow... so tired,” he whispered.

“Selena?” Camilla then called in turn. “Would you be a dear and see if my wyvern is in the stables?”

Odin then switched to lean on Selena’s shoulder instead. Before he could begin to whine once more, she shrugged him off and began to walk towards the stables. Odin scrambled to catch up after getting over his initial rejection. With his friends having wandered off to do their jobs, Laslow had no choice but to return to the others. It seemed everyone was organizing riding arrangements, as he watched Effie practically glue herself to her liege’s side, forcing Arthur to sulk over to Beruka. The axe wielder nodded curtly at something Arthur asked, then turned her face to the sky and whistled between two fingers pressed to her lips. A moment later, a great roar pierced the sky, and a large wyvern flew from the other side of the castle, beginning to descend right where they stood. As it reached the ground, Laslow glanced over his shoulder to see his two friends returning not with a horse and a wyvern, but two horses.

“Lady Elise,” Selena called, raising the hand she clutched the reins in.

“Oh!” exclaimed the princess, scurrying to take her horse from the retainer with a grateful smile. “Thank you!”

“Did you find her, dear?” Camilla inquired, cloak billowing in the freezing wind as she approached Selena. The retainer seemed frozen in place before shaking her head. “N-No, Milady. She must be out.”

Camilla smiled softly, beckoning Selena to follow as she walked back to join the group. As she went, she whistled in a similar manner to what Beruka had done minutes before, and sure enough, a wyvern much larger than the other retainer’s came swooping down, landing in a cloud of snow.

Odin approached his liege and handed over the reins to his horse. Leo took them silently, and mounted the beast in the same manner. “Niles,” he said simply after a moment. Laslow watched as Niles and Odin exchanged glances, and cocked his head as Odin offered Niles a friendly smile and motioned to Leo’s steed. The archer regarded his fellow retainer evenly, something unreadable in his eye, before mounting the horse and settling behind Leo. If he didn’t know better, he might think Niles was actually warming up to Odin. Leo, however...

Laslow wrapped his cloak more snugly around himself to block out the chill as he made his way back to Peri and her horse. He had his foot back in the stirrup when rapid footsteps in the snow behind him alerted him to Odin’s presence. The hand on his shoulder spun him around, and pleading brown eyes quickly met his own.

“I don’t have a ride,” he explained quickly, bravado gone for the sake of brevity, “so can you switch me?”

“What?”

“Let me ride with Peri, and you can ride with Prince Xander.”

“Why can’t you ride with Prince Xander?”

“That’s just awkward. I don’t know him like you do. You’re his liege. That would be like you riding with Leo.”

Laslow had to admit, he’d rather not have to ride with Leo. Ever. Though it was against his better judgement, he supposed he’d have to ride with Xander. Who knew? Maybe this ride would help them bond. A “get-to-know-you”, if you will. Well, Laslow could hope, anyway. Or, it could go horribly wrong and Laslow could realize how much Xander truly dislikes him.

Right.

He took a deep breath.

“Sure. Yes. Alright,” he replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes in half annoyance, half fondness as Odin pumped a fist into the air, and turned to greet Peri. The dancer took another deep breath before turning to make his way towards Xander. The prince had apparently watched the entire exchange, and had the courtesy to scoot further up in his saddle to make room for his passenger. Laslow heaved himself into the saddle of the rather tall horse, his feet not quite reaching the stirrups anymore as he seated himself fully on the horse’s back and behind his lord. As soon as their caravan was ready to depart, Xander took the lead by land as Camilla and Beruka took to the skies.

•x•x•

“Your cloak.”

The statement came after what had to have been about half an hour into their journey. Sparse small talk had sustained them between moments of heavy silence, so this sudden change in the substance of conversation material took Laslow by surprise.

“Muh?”

“That cloak you’re wearing. It has an interesting design on the back. Does it have a meaning?”

“Oh! It was my father’s. The cloak, I mean. As for the design...” He couldn’t exactly tell Xander about the Fell Dragon without sounding completely crazy... “It was a symbol commonly used in the country he hailed from. The brand of their royals.”

“Was he royal?”

“Far from it, actually. He was a poor orphan.”

Xander nodded, though Laslow couldn’t see his expression from his angle.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your use of the past tense... Is he...?”

“Yes. A long time ago,” Laslow replied quickly, the hand that wasn’t busy gripping Xander’s waist for balance grasping the fabric of his cloak tightly. Xander was silent for a moment after this, and Laslow wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the prince’s apparent interest in him or saddened by the sudden onslaught of memories the questions about his father brought unto him.

“Am I prying too much? I’m merely curious. You need only tell me if you wish to stop.”

“N-No, no. I’m fine. I don’t get many opportunities to talk about my parents.”

“May I ask more about them?”

“Of course, Milord.”

Xander was silent as he readied his next question. Finally, he asked, “From where did your parents hail?”

Laslow panicked for a moment. Would it be safe to give that information away to his liege? He wasn’t sure. Anankos’s words rang in his ears.

“My mother came from a snowy nation ruled by two Khans. My father came from a desert kingdom made up almost entirely of mages.”

“Was your father a mage?”

“Yes, he was,” Laslow replied, smiling at the memory of his father’s grin. “He taught me magic when I was young. I know enough to be dangerous,” he jested with a light laugh. He felt rather than saw Xander’s own chuckle, and nearly pulled completely away before realizing that letting go of Xander would mean possibly falling right off of his horse.

“What about your mother?” Xander asked next, his voice lighter, easier than when they first began conversing at the start of their journey.

“She was a dancer. The most talented dancer I’ve ever seen,” he reminisced.

“Is she–“

“Yes, she is, too.”

“If you don’t mind me asking... how did they pass? You seem too young to have parents already gone.”

“They were both soldiers. My father was killed in battle, and my mother was killed in an ambush.” Laslow’s grip tightened on Xander’s waist without him fully realizing it, and the prince shifted beneath his hands.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked more of you. I understand how painful that must be to recall.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Talking about it helps me cope, I suppose, but yes, it still hurts. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to fully answer all your questions.”

There was a moment of silence before Laslow perked up. “May I ask a question?”

“It is only fair. Yes.”

“You said that you understand the pain of remembering a lost parent. Did you lose your mother?”

For a moment, Laslow was afraid he’d gone too far when Xander tensed beneath his grip. However, his shoulders fell and the tension left him swiftly. “I did, yes, but I was very young. I don’t quite remember her face anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Milord.” This definitely raised many more questions that Laslow would save for later. He wouldn’t pry more than he needed to.

Xander was silent after this, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Rather, it was familiar, like sitting with a friend. Yes, perhaps he would be able to sit down with Xander and spill out his heart, and maybe Xander might even do the same.

He’d let himself dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! Again thank you all so much for hanging in there with me. School has been beating me up tbh and ive had lots of other things going on all at once that I’ve been overwhelmed with. Pieces of this chapter also liked to delete themselves sometimes, so rewriting made me lose some motivation, but I really love this fic so I powered through!! Thank you so much for reading <33 my fire emblem sideblog on tumblr is combatjorts, and I’ll be happy to talk to you guys there if you want <3


	16. XXIII pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the absolute worst human ever and I am so sorry I took a whole two and a half months to make this chapter. I hit a huge writer’s block and probably the two most stressful months of my life so far BUT I survived and school is done and I promise I’ll make it up to all you wonderful people very very soon <333 if you guys are still hanging with me, I appreciate you all more than you know and I hope you enjoy this chapter!! I wish it was longer for you all but I really need to get my motivation back up to write an even better next chapter!! Currently struggling with the slow burn because I already have the romance parts written out :’) anyway, enjoy!!

Contrary to what Laslow knew of the hierarchy in Ylisse, Nohr had very strict, tight knit classes who associated with their own kind and no one else, often simply because they hated people of other castes more than they hated each other. Thus, interactions seemed almost forced and extremely artificial, especially as the classes grew more affluent. He was to bear witness to such very shortly, as he donned his best dress clothes and sheathed his sword in the bejeweled sheath at his hip that his mother gifted him so many years ago. Garon held galas simply for the sake of keeping the favor of those with the most influence in society below him, thus staving off massive revolts from lower classes who don’t have the means to overpower their upper class counterparts.

 

Tonight, Laslow was to act as a guard of sorts with the other retainers. He would stand watch on the outskirts of the main festivities, scanning the crowd for potential threats that may have gotten past the guards posted at the entrances. He was to blend in with the crowd, and perhaps even join in whilst doing his job as long as he didn’t get carried away. A ridiculous notion, really. Laslow took his job very seriously, and he wouldn’t let a beautiful maiden or a handsome gentleman distract him too terribly. Right? Right. Perhaps just one measly dance.

 

“Ready?”

 

Peri’s voice from the doorway startled him, and he dropped the comb he was holding after fumbling to catch it for a good few seconds. “Ah! Y-Yes, I’m ready. You look very nice,” he added with a smile after getting over his initial shock. She wore a strange combination of puffy lace and shining armor, all manners of knives probably strapped to her legs under layers of fabric and crinolines.

 

“You think so? Wow! Thanks! You look pretty good, too!” she chirped cheerfully. “You’ve even got your good sword out. It would be a shame to bloody that one up.”

 

“Yes, well... That’s what swords are for, right?”

 

“Yup! What’s the point of a sword if you’re just gonna hang it up on a wall somewhere to look pretty? Look!” Peri suddenly rucked up every layer of skirt she had on with no semblance of a warning, causing Laslow to let out a strangled, squeaking yelp and slap his hands over his eyes.

 

“P-Peri!”

 

“Re-lax! I’ve got bloomers on! They’re cute, too! Look at my knives!”

 

Ah. So he was right. Tentatively, he uncovered his eyes and peered through his splayed fingers, eyes roving over the impressive collection of blades strapped from thigh to calfon each of the cavalier’s legs. She giggled gleefully, her face obscured by the ungodly number of skirts she clutched in her arms as she held them up.

 

Of course, as Laslow’s luck would allow it, Prince Xander chose that exact moment to stop by Laslow’s door. The prince was speaking, but Laslow didn’t listen to a word he said. All of his attention was drawn to the inevitability of an impending awkward moment that could evolve into an entire awkward night. Xander lifted his gaze to Laslow as he fully entered the room, but halted and did a double-take as he took in the odd scene before him. It all appeared to happen in slow motion as Xander’s expression morphed from neutral to confused to mildly horrified. Wide mahogany eyes locked onto Laslow’s own, and the mercenary never wanted to disappear more in his life. “M-Milord Xander!”

 

Once he gathered his bearings, the prince seemed wholly unimpressed at Laslow’s apparent raunchy behavior, though his brows furrowed in something he assumed was irritation. Laslow made yet another strangled noise that he never thought could possibly come from a human body, cheeks burning. Peri blinked owlishly, glancing over her shoulder as she continued to flash the mortified Laslow, then turned, skirts rustling and still bundled in her arms.

 

“Hiya, Milord! I was just showing Laslow my knives!”

 

Poor Xander, mortified, had whipped around to face the other direction before Peri could finish turning. “Your _what_?” he asked in a voice a good octave higher than normal.

 

“My knives! Duh. I’ve gotta put ‘em somewhere, and you can’t see them through my dress.” She made no move to put down her skirts, then added, “Laslow showed me his sword.”

 

Xander choked. Laslow may have sobbed.

 

“W-Well... Ah... Peri. Please... Put... put your skirts down,” the Prince stuttered awkwardly, tentatively peering over his shoulder. The retainer huffed out a heavy sigh, but complied, releasing the skirts so they could fall back into place. Xander visibly relaxed and turned to face his retainers, a hint of color lingering on his cheeks.

 

“Red is a fetching color on you, Milord,” Laslow teased once he had recovered from his existential crisis, concealing a weak laugh behind his hand. Xander’s embarrassment managed to somehow lessen his own, perhaps because he wasn’t alone in his suffering then. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries, but Xander merely grumbled, pressing the backs of his hands to his cheeks to will away his blush.

 

“If the two of you are finished with your antics, we should report to the ballroom.”

 

“Milord, this is all a big misunderstanding. She really was—“

 

Xander held up a hand, silencing Laslow’s explanation. The dancer pursed his lips, then sighed, defeated. “I don’t want to know. Knowing you, philandering as you are, I’d rather not ask.”

 

Laslow hadn’t flirted with _that_  many women in Xander’s presence. Only Felicia. And those village girls at the outpost. And the tavern-keep. And the sentry. Oh.

 

“C’mon, Milord! Don’t be so hard on our favorite little greenhorn,” Peri, bless her soul, chimed in. Xander raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, merely extending his arms for his retainers. Laslow hooked his right arm in Xander’s left, as Peri did the same on the prince’s right. Laslow had to admit; this was all so exciting. He hadn’t been to anything resembling a ball since the celebration Chrom held at his exaltation ceremony. Of course, he didn’t hold it for himself, being the humble man that he was, nor did he accept the title of Exalt out of respect for his late sister. He held the gala for his army and their families as a belated thank-you for their service, never letting a soul so much as bow to him. He saw everyone as an equal, and Laslow respected the man greatly. He wondered idly if the Chrom from his timeline would have been so great. Perhaps he would have been even grander.

 

“What’s wrong, Laslow?”

 

“Milord?” Laslow was startled from his reverie by Xander’s query, blinking.

 

“You seemed lost in thought.”

 

“Indeed I was.”

 

“Thinking of all the women you’ll have at your fingertips to make uncomfortable with your advances?” Xander teased. Anyone who didn’t know the man and his mannerisms might think he were mocking or even scolding Laslow. The retainer spent long enough fretting over such things that he could now easily decipher the true meaning behind Xander’s tone.

 

“You know me, Milord. Always ready to sweep one off their feet,” he replied with emphasis on the last bit, smiling at their easy banter.

 

“I don’t think you’ll be sweeping anyone off their feet outside of a battlefield,” Peri snickered as she bounced along on Xander’s other side.

 

“Give me a few days and I may prove you wrong.”

 

“Mm,” Peri hummed, tapping her chin with her free hand. “Sorry, Laslow, but you’re not really my type.”

 

Well, that was a shot through the heart. Though, Laslow figured it might be off-putting to court someone so similar in personality to his father. The thought made him shudder, actually. Even Xander chuckled at Peri’s response, though he attempted to stifle it as soon as it began. A shame.

 

“You two bicker more than a married couple,” the prince remarked, startling both of his retainers.

 

“Me and Laslow? Really?” Peri asked, giggling through her words. “I think you and Laslow bicker more, Milord. If _we’re_  a married couple, you two might as well be soulmates, then. You guys never stop!”

 

Laslow faltered and subsequently tripped on the crimson carpet they walked on. The only thing that saved him from acquainting his face with the floor was his hold on Xander’s arm. Peri kept talking, but Laslow quit listening, truthfully. The prince chuckled softly, which Laslow felt more than heard. “Surely we don’t always bicker so?”

 

Peri raised a brow, her message conveyed silently. The air between them was light with mirth now, thanks to the young cavalier. Laslow would much rather have this easy silence than the awkward, heavy ones that tend to settle groups in the castle. Together, they made their way to the grand ballroom through the candlelit hallways of stone, arm in arm with hints of smiles lingering on their lips.

 

•x•x•

 

Laslow had never seen so much food in one place, nor had he ever seen dresses of such volume. Odin was practically foaming at the mouth at the sight of this banquet laid out before them. He could envision the mage camped out at the table of food for the duration of the night, and laughed at the thought. Selena eyed a skewer of some sort of grilled meat before snatching it from the plate, content to nosh on it before the real festivities began and the table was crowded with guests. Laslow picked up what he believed was some sort of pepper, which had to be hard to come by in cold, dim Nohr, filled with something creamy. He took a bite, making a rather embarrassing noise at the perfect balance of sweet and savory that flooded his mouth.

 

“Do my senses deceive me?!” Odin inquired at top volume, wafting air to his nose with his hand. “Is that... sweet red pepper? A glorious fruit of the earth that stings all those unworthy?” His gaze locked into the pepper in Laslow’s hand. “Can I try..?”

 

“There are plenty on the table.”

 

“I cannot afford to fill the cavernous maw of my soul with one simple pepper! Look at the banquet laid before us!”

 

“Odin, it isn’t that big.”

 

The mage deflated. “Can I just have a bite?”

 

Laslow rolled his eyes and relinquished his pepper, allowing Odin to taste it. To his chagrin, “just one bite” turned into two, and then his pepper was gone with only Orin’s sheepish smile, cheeks pooched like a squirrel’s, left in its wake.

 

“You absolute heathen, you said one bite!” said Laslow, exasperated.

 

“Om fowwy, i’ waf juf too good,” Odin replied around a mouth full of pepper.

 

“Gods, how many years have I been telling you to shut your mouth when you’re eating?” Selena huffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

 

The woman was taking another bite of her own snack when the perfectly manicured hand of Princess Camilla landed in her shoulder, prompting her to sputter, swallow, and whip around to face her liege with wide eyes. Camilla laughed softly, a low sound in her chest, and tipped Selena’s head up with one elegant finger tucked under her chin. Camilla herself was looking wonderful, in Laslow’s opinion, and most likely the opinion of everyone who laid eyes on her. Her dress was form fitting to the hips, where it then fell in silky purple waves and black ruffles to the floor. It was rather low-cut, which Laslow was trying not to linger on. Her lavender curls fell to her waist, loose and flowing. She was a beautiful woman, really, and Laslow could tell that Selena thought the same, with her mouth agape and her eyes sparkling. The only other time he’d seen her act like that was around Lucina. Laslow pushed the thought of his old friend away before too many memories came flooding back.

 

“My Lady Camilla,” Laslow began, falling into a dancer’s curtesy, one leg tucked behind as he bowed elegantly, “you look beautiful tonight. Anyone lucky enough to catch your eye is very lucky, indeed.”

 

Camilla smiled, but the curl of her lips looked more amused than anything.

 

“Oh, dear Laslow,” she began matronly, “You say that to every woman you meet. And I will not be the last.” With that, she turned her gaze to something over Laslow’s shoulder. “Selena, dear!”

 

Laslow’s face fell, and he straightened from his bow, blinking owlishly as Camilla smiled sweetly at her retainer. Said retainer’s shoulder jostled Laslow as she passed, flicking a lock of loose crimson hair over her shoulder. She turned back to smirk triumphantly, and Laslow’s jaw fell open. Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous.

 

“Coming, my liege.” Selena announced, and Laslow didn’t miss the wry edge to her voice.

 

He turned to mutter his complaints to Odin, but found that his friend’s gaze was fixed on something across the great room as he paused in his raid of the snack table. Laslow followed his gaze to see, much to his surprise, Niles. His white hair was tied back into a short ponytail, and he was idly tapping a sheathed dagger to his chin as he leaned casually against the wall. He seemed to sense the dual gazes upon him and turned, lowering the dagger as he spotted the perpetrators. His lone, unsettlingly blue eye lingered on Odin before turning on Laslow and narrowing ever so slightly. He’d seen the way Niles acted around nearly everyone else in the castle; teasing, smug, and, at many times, lewd. But he’d never shown anything but subdued abhorrence and suspicion towards Laslow. Now that he thought on it, he hadn’t seen the man approach Selena, but still acted relatively in the same manner towards her as he did Laslow. Odin, however, was a special case. He clearly received the same treatment when they were first dumped unceremoniously in the castle lockup, but time with Niles and Lord Leo seems to have changed that attitude.

 

Niles straightened himself, pushed off from the wall, and began to leisurely make his way to the duo, dagger swinging loosely in his grip. Laslow felt Odin stiffen beside him, cheeks pooched with snack items like a squirrel storing for winter.

 

“My, my,” Niles began as he stopped before Laslow and Odin, shifting his weight to one cocked hip and curling his lips into a half smile, “you’ve got quite the mouthful there, Odin.”

 

Odin blinked a few times before nodding, averting his gaze. He then attempted to convey some message through mere humming and hand gestures, apparently too sheepish to actually finish his food before speaking. Niles raised a brow and, to Laslow’s mild surprise, hooked a finger under Odin’s chin to guide his gaze back to Niles. “Swallow,” he commanded, and the sheer tone of the statement had Laslow spinning on his heel and fleeing. He could hear Odin whining after him, but he didn’t stop.

 

Well, he didn’t stop until he was physically forced to by a collision with someone in front of him. “My apologies,” he began, trailing off as the victim of his careless rushing turned and revealed himself to be Lord Leo. Of course. The young prince looked him up and down with a dark cherrywood gaze identical to his older brother’s, then narrowed his eyes, scowling. It was quite a jarring look coming from a prince, but the effect was lessened considering it came from a teenager.

 

“What are they doing?” Leo demanded, motioning to something behind Laslow. The dancer blinked, then turned, though he saw nothing unusual.

 

“I’m— I’m sorry?”

 

“My retainers,” the prince said firmly, scowl deepening. “What are they _doing_? You were just with them, were you not?”

 

Again, Laslow blinked like an idiot. Leo was still incredibly intimidating regardless of his age, as he still managed to overtake Laslow in height. The silver haired man managed to halfway compose himself, folding his hands together as he began. “W-Well, they, ah... nothing, Lord Leo. Just speaking.”

 

Laslow let out an embarrassingly high pitched yelp as Leo grabbed his shoulders, then spun him around to face Odin and Niles.

 

“Does that look like ‘just speaking’ to you?”

 

Odin was, of course, still eating, but managed to laugh and talk between bites as Niles stood rather close to what Laslow would consider his own personal space threshold if he were Odin, his hand on the table as he leaned towards the mage.

 

“Um,” Laslow began eloquently as he floundered for words. No, it did not look like ‘just talking’ to him, but yes, Niles did act like that rather frequently. Odin, too, was an incredibly friendly person, so in all, it didn’t look like an exceptionally unusual scene. “Yes..?”

 

Apparently that was the wrong conclusion, as Leo threw his hands in the air and groaned in exasperation. “Of _course_. Why did I ever think to ask _you_  of all people, who cannot control himself enough to refrain from asking anything with a pulse to tea?”

 

Laslow was stunned into speechlessness. He hoped Leo was done absolutely destroying him so he could leave this forsaken party, or simply talk to anyone who wasn’t Prince Leo. He hoped Xander would hate this event and command Laslow find a way to drag him out of it, but that was highly unlikely. However, his luck panned out in another respect and Lord Leo turned on his heel and clicked away on the impossibly shiny lacquered wood floor. He took this moment to breathe, glance around, and consider actually doing his job. When that thought passed, he searched for Xander. That head of blond curls wasn’t hard to spot. It was perhaps one of the brightest things in Nohr, followed closely by Odin’s personality and the glint of Selena’s sword when she is irate.

 

Xander was speaking with a highly decorated man in the back of the room, flanked by Camilla with Selena at her side. Selena happened to catch his eye after a moment and subtly waved him over. Laslow furrowed his brow and shook his head. What business had he over there? Selena rolled her eyes and raised a finger just enough to point to herself and Camilla, then point to Xander and finally Laslow. She mouthed something that looked like WE-DANE-HER, but Laslow had enough right mind to realize she meant “retainer”. Why would Xander need a retainer with him? If he needed one, he would have asked, and probably would have found Peri first, where she was standing by the main entrance with the guards and staring unblinking and smiling at every guest who entered. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t ask her.

 

Laslow shook his head, more out of stubbornness than “no, Xander doesn’t need me over there”-ness. Selena narrowed her eyes with such ferocity that it caught the attention of Camilla, who turned to follow her retainer’s gaze and landed on Laslow. She seemed wholly unsurprised and gently touched her brother’s forearm, much to the puzzlement and annoyance of the haughty man they were speaking to. Laslow found it rather funny, really, until Xander met his gaze as well. The color must have drained from his face, because he felt light headed all of a sudden. Xander fixed him with an even stare, that ever-present furrow between his brows deepening, but he beckoned him over nonetheless. Laslow’s legs began to move him on their own accord. As he got closer, he noticed just how lavishly decorated the man’s two-tailed velvet coat appeared, bejeweled with sparkling rubies and trimmed with gold. It was an odd fashion to Laslow, but apparently normal to the very upper classes of Nohr.

 

Laslow reached the group and bowed gracefully— rather, he hoped it was graceful—, standing with an easy smile though his stomach jumped with nerves. He felt this man’s scrutinizing gaze burning into his skin. Why couldn’t he have been a women? Laslow was much more comfortable talking to women; they were often less openly judgmental, in his experience. Selena was an exception.

 

“Baron, this is my retainer, Laslow,” Xander began, motioning to Laslow. He smiled. The Baron did not.

 

“Retainer to the king? He must be quite the swordsman,” the man began, staring directly at Laslow though rudely not directky addressing him. He suppressed the urge to scowl.

 

“One of the best we have at our disposal,” Xander answered, and Laslow couldn’t help the widening of his eyes, nor the swell of pride in his chest. A few butterflies made their grand entrance in his stomach. The Baron cocked a brow.

 

“Is he?” The man then, finally, turned fully towards Laslow. Something in his gaze was slightly unnerving. “Where did you train, boy?”

 

Boy? He was not a child, and he would not be spoken to like one. Xander had turned to him as well, muted curiosity in his gaze. The fire building in Laslow’s chest diminished, replaced with nerves once more. He couldn’t simply make something up, could he? They would know. Selena was looking at him, eyes wide but face betraying nothing. That was it!

 

“Selena and I trained together with Lord Leo’s retainer, Odin, as children,” Laslow began, weaving a tale that wasn’t quite the truth, but was by no means a lie. “Our parents were soldiers.”

 

“Oh?” The man seemed intrigued, raising a bushy brow. “What post? Do you know the commanding officer?”

 

“O-Oh,” Laslow began, shaking his head with a small, friendly smile. “It was... well, it was more of a— a militia, if you will.”

 

The Baron’s face fell, and he narrowed his eyes, mustache twitching with the slight curl of his lip. Laslow knew distaste when he saw it, and this man’s expression was bordering on disgust. Xander shifted minutely beside him. “Oh. A _militia_. I can only wonder how your parents gained any substantial skill from _that_ , much less how they managed to train a swordsman of your caliber.” The man’s face seemed set in a deep, permanent scowl as he scrutinized Laslow seemingly from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes. “Are you truly as skilled as I have heard? It is only natural to doubt such a lofty statement,” the Baron continued, as easy and nonchalant as if he were discussing the weather, “crafted around a whelp most likely birthed in the company of many a strand of hay—“

 

“Baron, you do realize that you are speaking in the presence of Nohrian royalty? It matters not who you address; you still speak to the retainer of the crown prince in the presence of the prince himself, and you will act as such. I will not have you sullying the name of Nohr with your dated opinions and stagnant thoughts.” Though still reeling from the Baron’s words, Laslow was taken aback by Xander’s sudden interruption and the sheer tone of his voice. He was as close to snapping as the dancer had ever heard him, which was awe inspiring and terrifying all in the same moment. He hadn’t realized that Xander had quit speaking, replaced by Camilla— bless her— as the prince took him by the arm and began to lead him away.

 

“But, lord Xander, I am merely concerned for your safety—“

 

“Enough,” came Camilla’s low warning.

 

The Baron’s words themselves didn’t hurt Laslow. No, they were true. He was born in a tent in the middle of Ylisse to a dancer and a mage. On top of that, his parents belonged to a ragtag army formed by an ambitious, If not rebellious, prince. Practically born in the hay? Check. Trained by a militia? Check. He felt no shame about his past. What truly bothered Laslow was that his less-than-royal background was hung to dry right in front of his liege. It was beyond embarrassing to be reminded how truly unqualified he might seem on the surface. Yes, he’d been reminded of his skill with a sword even by Xander, but was he truly skilled enough to protect a crown prince? He was beginning to doubt himself. His self esteem was always rather fragile.

 

As he snapped out of his thoughts, Laslow found himself in a corridor adjoining the ballroom, his pace slowing to a stop as Xander released him at last. The prince, his golden brows knitted, seemed to struggle as his hand hovered in the hair in front of Laslow. Finally, he brought it down to rest rather stiffly, awkwardly, on Laslow’s shoulder.

 

“I am sorry you had to endure that,” Xander began slowly, meeting Laslow’s gaze. “The Baron is bitter, and has not done a righteous act in his life. He had no right to—“

 

“Why did you choose me?” Laslow interrupted, brow furrowed in a mix of agitation and a heavy emotion he couldn’t place. Xander’s eyes widened minutely in surprise. He appreciated the sympathy, he did, but he didn’t need soft words and apologies. He didn’t want Xander to hold his hand and walk him through his problems like some helpless child. He wanted answers. “You— you had no reason to trust me, I could have been a... a—a street rat, or a criminal, or—or a mediocre swordsman. A danger to your life.”

 

Xander’s gaze flicked quickly between Laslow’s eyes, the furrow between his brows deepening. “You are not any of those.”

 

“But how did you know at a glance? No, it wasn’t instantaneous, but— but it was so close. Why?” The fire in Laslow’s eyes was not dying, but a lead-heavy, sour feeling twisted his gut by the second as he delved deeper into his thoughts. “Was it pity?”

 

Xander was silent, lips parting and pressing together as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the right words.

 

“Milord,” Laslow began, voice soft and almost pleading. “The truth. Please.”

 

The prince still seemed at a loss, whether it was due to Laslow’s words themselves or the possible truth behind them, Laslow wasn’t sure. Finally, Xander pulled in a slow breath, one unruly golden ringlet slipping free of his black, thorny circlet and falling between his eyes.

 

“I... I will be honest,” the prince began slowly, carefully. Laslow burned to tell him to quit being so gentle, as if he would crumble under just the hint of a harsh tone. “Perhaps it was pity, at first. I’ve seen many of those detained by my father left to rot on the streets or in the castle lockup. You and your friends immediately struck me as... well, as foreign,” he explained, clasping his hands in front of his body. “You had proven your skill with those bandits, but such commotion does not go unnoticed in Nohr. The kingdom does not usually take kindly to outsiders, especially those who break the mold, as they are seen as a danger to the safety of the people.”

 

“So you took us in to keep us off of the streets.” It was more of a statement than a question.

 

“It wasn’t that simple. We did not ignore your skill. To best such a large band of notoriously skilled thieves is nothing to scoff at. My father noticed, as did Camilla and I. With tensions rising and stakes becoming higher, skilled soldiers are an incredibly valuable resource.”

 

Laslow supposed that reasoning was sound. King Garon was becoming increasingly agitated by rising tensions between Nohr and the neighboring Hoshido. It would make sense that he would want the strongest fighters he could find, but to pull them from the street with no information on them but their name and their word seemed a bit desperate. A bit insane, even.

 

“I... I have one last question,” Laslow began after a moment of silence. “Do you believe I am truly qualified to serve you? Tell me the absolute truth.” He was prepared. He was. He felt he would explode if he didn’t get some semblance of an answer to his burning question, no matter if it was what he wanted to hear.

 

Xander worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, a nervous tic, then gazed at Laslow with resolve in his eyes. “Yes. I do. Though I may be tough on you from time to time, you have proven yourself worthy above all others. Never have I hesitated to place my life in your hands.”

 

Laslow nodded slowly, gaze trained on the floor, then nodded again. His eyes burned, and he blinked away the growing blur in favor of meeting Xander’s gaze. “I... Thank you, Milord.Truly, from the bottom of my heart.”

 

The smallest hint of a smile curled Xander’s lips. “Thank you for confiding in me. A strong relationship must go both ways.”

 

Laslow blinked owlishly, eyes a bit wide. Yes, he knew that Xander meant their professional relationship, but just the use of the word had taken Laslow off guard. He couldn’t help but smile. “Of course, milord. It’s a wonder to me that, with your impeccable knowledge of relationships, that you aren’t constantly out to tea with every lady in the kingdom.”

 

Xander’s eyes widened minutely before he shook his head, smile growing just slightly. “You are impossible. Come; let’s return to the ball. I expect you to enjoy yourself.”

 

“Is that an order?”

 

“... Yes.”

 

“I will do my best, milord.”

 

Laslow bowed with a flourish and smiled at Xander’s low chuckle as he motioned for the dancer to rise. The gray haired man extended an elbow to the prince, raising a questioning brow, and grinned when the other tentatively linked arms with him. For the second time that evening, they proceeded to the ballroom, arm in arm with smiles on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter even though it’s not as long as I might have liked for such a long wait. It’s completely un-proofread, so there are probably errors galore. anyway, comments are always always super appreciated! I love you all and thank you for sticking with me and my awful updating schedule!! Also, happy one year to this fic AKA my baby <3


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